


The Terminal Job

by MittenWraith



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Falling Castiel, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Human Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, just go with it it's fiction, probable misrepresentation of how airports work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:05:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MittenWraith/pseuds/MittenWraith
Summary: Cas has a problem. He's becoming more human every day, and he's worried Dean won't have much use for him without his powers. He's been savoring every road trip he's taken with the Winchesters over the last month, because the only time he's been able to get a decent night's sleep has been when he's forced to share a bed with Dean.Dean has a problem too. Since Cas told Heaven to suck it and moved into the bunker, he's grown more and more accustomed to the nights (way to few and far between) when he's had to share a crappy motel bed with Cas. It's gotten to the point where he looks forward to lumpy mattresses more than sleeping on his own memory foam if it means he's got an excuse to share with Cas.Luckily for both of them, Jerry Panowski's got a problem too... only looking into his problem means spending some quality time at an airport Dean doesn't have the fondest memories of. At least he'll get to spend a few more nights sharing Cas's bed before he has a long overdue talk with his best friend.Dean can't decide which he's more terrified of-- airplanes or confessing his feelings to Cas.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been something like a year and a half since [truebluecas](https://truebluecas.tumblr.com) and I first talked about an Airport AU. And it was originally supposed to be an AU, but I had the airport idea AND an itch to write more canon case fic, so this is what happened. (and yes I still plan to write the AU fic eventually, too...)
> 
> Most of my knowledge of airside operations is probably severely outdated... like late 70's, early 80's outdated, and I didn't even try to figure out what the "correct" procedures for things are. I mean, if Supernatural can use Vancouver Airport and pretend it's Lehigh Valley, then I can just make shit up too. It's fiction. Just enjoy it for what it is.
> 
> (hopefully y'all are actually just here for the Dean/Cas stuff, right? Because at least all that is in order. :P)

The world had been restored to normal once again. Or at least what seemed to be the standard baseline level of weird that Dean had always considered normal, which was good enough for him. The multiverse wasn’t collapsing, cosmic entities weren’t threatening to unravel the existential sweater, and the few angels left up in heaven had finally apologized to Cas and agreed he deserved to go live the life he wanted with no further interference from them. To Dean’s eternal gratitude, Cas had chosen to live full time at the bunker.

They’d taken a few local hunts when it had become unavoidable, but mostly hadn’t gone looking for them.  Dean insisted that they’d all earned a little bit of R and R before getting back to work. Heck, he’d even miraculously talked Sam and Cas into a beach vacation that had somehow turned into a week long road trip purely for the fun of it. It had been a novel and rejuvenating experience for all three of them.

A month or so after Cas had officially moved in for good, Dean strolled into the kitchen one morning to find Sam had completely taken over the kitchen table. He’d planned on making himself some coffee and starting on breakfast, but at this rate they’d have to stand at the counter to eat. Every inch of the table was covered with books and files and strange map-like charts, with Sam and his laptop planted right in the middle of the chaos.

Sam typed away, holding up one finger to acknowledge Dean’s presence and beg a few moments to finish what he was doing. Dean detoured to the coffee pot to pour himself a cup before planting himself in the seat opposite his brother and leaning his elbows atop a disheveled array of maps, sipping his coffee while attempting to decipher the strange swooping lines.

“So, what’s all this?” Dean asked, flipping through some of the odd charts covered with what appeared to be random squiggles and arrows until he landed on one that explained all the rest. “Catasauqua? Isn’t that where we met baby’s first demon? Don’t tell me Specky’s finally come back for round two.”

It was easy to be cavalier about a one trick demon years down the road. Specky the Wonderdemon’s only trick just happened to be crashing airplanes. At the time, Dean hadn’t known which was worse, airplanes or demons. But that had been years before he’d had the King of Hell on speed dial, before he’d been to Hell himself and been pulled out by an angel, before the apocalypse, before Lucifer and Heaven and God himself had strolled through his life. Oh, and long before he spent an awkward few months as a demon himself.

Yeah, after all that, Specky barely even ranked anymore. Airplanes were still thoroughly terrifying, though. If it was the same demon, Dean was at least confident they could catch him on the ground and jam an angel blade through his chest without even needing to see the inside of a plane, especially if Jerry Panowsky still worked up at the airport there. It probably wouldn’t take much to get them some sort of official clearance, where they could throw down a devil’s trap on the jetway and quietly take care of the fucker in short order.

Sam interrupted his reverie with a snort. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s the same demon, but Jerry sent an email this morning and it sounds like he’s got a different sort of problem.”

“Still our kinda thing, though?” Dean asked, warily letting the stack of what were clearly flight charts drop back to the table as he returned his attention to his coffee. Somewhere at the back of his mind, a loop started up chanting _please don’t let it be planes please don’t let it be planes please don’t let it be planes_.

Sam easily picked up the strain in Dean’s voice, the tension in his shoulders at the mere mention of an airport, and grinned. “We don’t need to fly anywhere this time, Dean. Jerry’s got a few issues with some of the ground crew.”

The effect of Sam’s carefully chosen words-- _ground_ crew-- seemed to placate Dean enough for the moment, so Sam pressed on. He turned the laptop around so Dean could read Jerry’s email. While he read, Sam took the opportunity to clear away enough of his mess so they’d eventually be able to eat a proper breakfast. If they were gonna drive all the way to Pennsylvania, they’d need fortification. It might be nearly a straight shot eastward, but it would still be twenty hours in the car. The sooner they set out, the better.

“Amnesia?” Dean said when he’d finished reading.

Sam shrugged and sat back down with a fresh cup of coffee now that he’d gotten everything shoved over to one end of the table. “He’s got employees missing a few hours here and there when all their coworkers swear they were at work. If it’s freaking people out enough for one woman to quit and another guy to check himself into a hospital, it’s probably serious enough to at least look into it.”

Dean’s head wobbled back and forth as he frowned at his coffee mug and considered the possibilities. “Still could be demon possession.”

Sam nodded. “Or a shapeshifter, or a witch, or any of half a dozen other things.”

“Or maybe there’s some sort of toxic gas leak causing mass hallucinations and the dude in the psych ward’s not cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs. Maybe they’re just breathing in too much jet fuel exhaust.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “They already did a sweep for carbon monoxide and a dozen other common airborne toxins. I think we can at least cross that off the list.”

“Yeah, we owe it to Jerry to at least check shit out for him.”

“Who’s Jerry?” Cas asked, finally ambling into the kitchen and making a beeline for the coffee. “And what do you owe him?”

Since he’d submitted his official resignation notice to Heaven, Cas had been gradually going native again. Dean hadn’t asked, and Cas hadn’t brought it up either, but it was hard not to notice he was becoming more and more human as the days went by. He ate now, and showered, and slept. Dean had taken him shopping for clothes, and over the last few weeks the old suit and trench coat had almost completely disappeared from the regular rotation in favor of jeans and henleys. Not that Dean was complaining, because Cas looked damn good, but it was still just this side of disconcerting that Cas hadn’t yet broached the subject of what choosing to retire from Heaven was doing to him physically. Dean sipped his coffee and watched Cas pour himself a cup, wondering yet again if he even had any right to ask him about it.

Cas turned around and nailed Dean with his gaze, demanding an answer to his question. Dean shook off his meandering thoughts and pasted a smile on as Cas sat down beside him, peering blearily at the laptop screen and waiting for the caffeine to kick in. Just seeing Cas looking so rumpled-- his hair all sticking up on one side from having slept on it funny and the sleepy but content smile on his face when he’d sat down-- cracked something open in Dean that he normally tried his damnedest to hold together.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean said, and waited for Cas to rumble out a _hello, Dean_ before answering. “Jerry Panowski’s a dude we’ve helped out a couple times, years ago. Dad and I evicted a poltergeist from his house back during Sam’s Animal House days--”

Sam cleared his throat and shot Dean a withering look, before picking up the story himself while Dean shrugged and got up to pour himself another cup of coffee. “About a month after I left Stanford, Jerry called Dean for help again. Turned out to be a demon with a fetish for crashing airplanes.”

“Our first ever demon case,” Dean said, settling back down beside Cas with a grin. “Hard to believe we were ever that freaked out over one pissant demon.”

“Yeah, well, odds are whatever’s got his employees freaked out this time is something we already know how to deal with,” Sam added. “So, you guys ready to spend the rest of the day in the car?”

“Breakfast first,” Dean insisted, standing up and patting Cas on the shoulder as he went to the fridge to pull out bacon and eggs.

Sam turned the laptop back around and finished typing his reply to Jerry, letting him know they were on the way.


	2. Chapter 2

They left the bunker before ten in the morning, but after fourteen hours on the road nobody wanted to try and push through the night. Dean grumbled that they were getting soft from taking leisurely road trips, but never really protested the decision to stop and sleep in a proper bed. Maybe it was just something about the entire state of Ohio that made him want to get off the road for a few hours. The billboard proclaiming _HELL IS REAL_ had prompted twenty minutes of the sort of surreal, slap-happy conversation that only ever happened after too many hours on the road, and they’d unanimously decided it was probably best to get a decent night’s sleep before showing up in Jerry’s office.

The first few nights they’d gone on the road with Cas in tow, Dean had lost the nightly game of Rochambeau over whose turn it was to share a bed with Cas. Sam had returned from the motel office with a frown on his face, waggling a single room key between his fingers. They only had one room left, but at least it was a double, and two of them would have to share.

A momentary flash of panic crossed Dean’s face, and he cast a wary glance over at Cas before swallowing hard and suggesting that they could keep driving for a little while, maybe find someplace else to sleep. Cas’s brow pinched down, partly from exhaustion and partly in confusion over Dean’s uncharacteristically tense reaction. Sam just gawped at the both of them, then rolled his eyes and cupped one hand beneath his other fist, glaring at Dean. Dean threw a nervous smile over at Cas and then mirrored his brother’s pose. Without a word, they pounded their fists against their hands three times, but Dean extended two fingers as his fist came down for the third blow. Sam sighed loudly, muttering something under his breath about _always scissors_ , then grabbed his bag from the trunk of the car and stomped off toward their room.

It had taken several nights for Cas to work out what the strange ritual meant. He’d asked Sam, who’d explained the rules of rock-paper-scissors, but told him to ask Dean when Cas asked why they bothered to play every night if Dean always insisted on throwing the game. Across the room, Dean had squirmed uneasily beneath the covers, grumbling both at Cas to just get in bed and go to sleep and at Sam to just shut up already. They hadn’t bothered with the charade again since. It was just an unspoken thing that at motels, Cas would share the bed with Dean.

It wasn’t like either of them objected, aside from a few tense and awkward moments. Once while they’d been on their way home from the beach, Dean had woken up in the middle of the night only to discover they’d somehow curled up together in their sleep. Dean tried to untangle their legs and slide away without waking Cas, but not-quite-all-the-way-human Cas was a light sleeper. He’d woken up just enough to grab Dean a little tighter and frown up at him. Dean had tried to roll over, to maybe make an excuse or laugh it off, but the fact that Sam was asleep just a few feet away had worked to Cas’s advantage. Dean wouldn’t risk waking his brother and making an awkward situation into a glaring spectacle.

Cas was comfortable, and even if neither of them had talked about it since then, they’d come to a sort of silent agreement that comfort was a good thing. Cas smiled sleepily up at Dean as his shoulders relaxed, and then resettled himself, nuzzling his face down against Dean’s shoulder and drifting back to sleep. They’d woken again a few hours later, still holding each other. Miraculously, Sam hadn’t said anything about it either. He’d just smiled at Cas and shot a pouting Dean a few withering glares.

The situation was much the same that night off the highway in rural Ohio. It had been more than a week since they’d been on the road, and Cas at least had missed having an excuse to share a bed with Dean. From the way their sleeping arrangements had been handled with the fewest number of words possible, he was reluctant to mention that he’d grown accustomed to sleeping with Dean. Sleeping alone in his room at the bunker had proven far more difficult. Cas was certain it would be inappropriate to bring this up to Sam, and he was terrified to let Dean know. He wouldn’t say or do anything to make Dean uncomfortable, including informing him of just how much he’d looked forward to nights like these.

Over the course of a handful of nights, through mostly silent communication, Cas felt like he and Dean had been slowly chipping away at all the issues they’d needed to work through between them. The fact that Dean still seemed reluctant to work through the rest of their issues out loud and with words was something Cas had been willing to overlook for now. They both acknowledged it wasn’t a perfect situation, but there was still a lot that Cas had been uncomfortable bringing up with Dean, too.

Such as the matter of what was happening to his grace.

Curled up together in a dingy little motel in the middle of Ohio, with only Sam’s gentle snores and the occasional loud truck passing by on the highway outside their window to break the silence, Cas swore to himself that he’d talk to Dean about it just as soon as they were home safe again. He’d savor the feeling of Dean’s arms wrapped around him in slumber while he could, and deal with the fallout his confession was sure to bring when he had the luxury to retreat to his own room alone in the aftermath.

The rest of the drive to Catasauqua the next morning was uneventful and quick compared to the much longer drive the day before. They’d checked into a motel a mile or so from the airport and changed into their FBI suits, which for today were doubling as their Homeland Security suits. Jerry had asked to meet somewhere away from the airport, and being close enough to lunch time, they drove to a little cafe Jerry had suggested.

“Hey, Sam, Dean…” a shorter, balding man said from across the parking lot as they got out of the car.

“Jerry,” Sam replied, striding over and shaking his hand as Dean and Cas caught up.

Dean straightened his tie, gave Cas a little nod, and shook his hand as well. “It’s been a long time.” Dean waved a hand at Cas and then smiled at Jerry. “This is Cas. He’s been, uh… working with us for about a decade now.”

Cas shook Jerry’s hand too. “It’s good to meet you, though I’m sorry to hear about your troubles.”

“Yeah, right?” Jerry said, laughing a little nervously and shaking his head. “It’s just not natural, you know? No one should have to deal with this garbage three times in one lifetime.”

Cas, Sam, and Dean all exchanged knowing looks before Dean snorted and clapped Jerry on the shoulder. “Then be glad you don’t deal with it for a living. That’s why you got us, right?”

Jerry shrugged and led the way inside. Over some fantastic burgers and a slice of pecan pie that bordered on the divine, Jerry laid out everything he knew about the unusual circumstances that led him to contact the Winchesters. He’d brought the employee files for everyone who’d complained of memory loss, everyone who’d been written up for suspicious behavior, and everyone who’d been found unconscious on airport grounds. That last list had been unsettlingly long.

“So Regina Bryce just quit after claiming to have no memory of her entire shift?” Sam asked, poring over the woman’s file.

Jerry nodded. “Twenty six years on the job, and now she refuses to set foot on airport property. She’s actually what pushed me into getting in touch with you. She’d heard the rumors going around for a few weeks before she quit, but nobody else had missed an entire shift the way she had. When she handed in her resignation, she looked me in the eye and said there was something evil going on here, and she refused to be a part of it.”

“And Todd Levitt?” Cas asked, perusing his file as Dean tried to sneak french fries off his plate. “He didn’t quit, but he hasn’t yet returned to work.”

“Todd had about a month of vacation time saved up, and he said he was gonna spend it getting right in his head,” Jerry confirmed. “He spent a couple days at the hospital, having every test his insurance would cover trying to figure out why he couldn’t remember blocks of time at work. He’d been found unconscious in a utility closet the day he checked himself into the hospital, with no memory of how he got there.”

“He figure it out?” Dean asked, stealing a few more of Cas’s fries.

“Not yet,” Jerry said. “But it’s only been a few days. Last I heard, the hospital gave him a clean bill of health and sent him home. His wife called yesterday to say he hadn’t had another attack since he’s been off, but he was gonna give it the rest of the week at home just to be sure. He’s due back to work on Monday.”

“That gives us four days to figure this shit out,” Dean said.

“Whatever you guys need, just let me know and I’ll make it happen,” Jerry said.

“I think the first thing we need to do is talk to these two,” Sam said, holding up Regina and Todd’s files.

Dean dug in the pocket of his coat and tossed the car keys to Sam. “Why don’t you handle that, and Jerry can give me and Cas a tour of the airport.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother. “You sure you wouldn’t rather drive _away_ from where they keep all the airplanes?”

“Shut up, bitch. We’re not getting _on_ a plane, but I figure you’re the people person,” Dean said, shooting a significant look at Sam and hooking a thumb at Cas. “And our resident flyboy here should be on hand at the airport just in case.”

Sam understood that even in his weakened condition, if there was something supernaturally fishy going on with the airport employees, Cas was still better equipped to pick up on it than all their EMF meters and hunter instincts put together. As far as Dean voluntarily going to an airport, Sam chalked it up to his ridiculously protective nature when it came to Cas. Ever since Cas had come back from the dead, Dean had been willing to endure pretty much anything if it meant he could keep a watchful eye on him. Sam couldn’t really begrudge him for it, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut and pinch the bridge of his nose at the reminder that they all had far too much experience with readjusting after their loved ones had been resurrected.

Poor Jerry. If only he knew just how easy he’d gotten off in life, only having three relatively minor brushes with the supernatural. Sam sighed, grabbed up the files and the keys, and stood up.

“I’ll give you guys a call when I’m done, and I can meet up with you at the airport.” With a little smirk at Dean, he excused himself and headed out to the car.

“So that leaves us to check out the scene of the crimes,” Dean said to Cas, tossing some cash down on the table. “Let’s go take a look at where the magic happens.”


	3. Chapter 3

On the short drive back to the airport, Jerry suggested they not pose as potential authority figures, and it was decided that Dean and Cas would drop the Homeland Security act. Jerry thought they’d blend in better if they posed as a couple of old friends from out of town that he was showing around. Dean wasn’t terribly thrilled with the plan, especially when Jerry suggested they lose the fed suit jackets. If Dean shed the jacket, he’d also have to shed a goodly number of his weapons, too. He couldn’t walk around an airport with an exposed gun tucked in the back of his waistband, so he’d had to leave that behind in Jerry’s car as well.

Dean stood by the open car door rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves. Cas watched him calmly while unbuttoning and rolling his own cuffs and loosening his tie a bit. He looked slightly too small without any sort of an overcoat at all, but Dean assumed that wasn’t the sort of thing anyone else would think looking at Cas for the first time.

“We’re going in without a lot of the usual equipment,” Dean said to Cas, quietly enough that even Jerry wouldn’t be able to hear them. Dean tugged off his tie entirely and wound it around his hand before dropping it on top of his jacket in the back seat. “No EMF, just a couple knives. Shit, if I’d known we were gonna be playing casual Friday, I would’ve grabbed a change of clothes before Sam took off.”

Cas gave him a confused squint. “Today’s Thursday, not Friday. Is there such a thing as casual Thursday?” Dean was too bemused to interrupt, and Cas blew right over it anyway. “It does make the situation more complicated. But I’m not sure how effective the EMF meter would be inside the airport anyway, with all electronics and communication equipment in use.”

“Still, it’s better to--” Dean started, before Cas cut him off, looking him right in the eye.

“Besides, it’s unlikely to be a spirit of any sort, or even a demon,” Cas reminded him. “The likelihood that whatever creature or creatures we’re hunting would even register on an EMF meter is exceedingly low.”

“Right,” Dean agreed, casting a longing frown at the lumpy pile of their jackets laid out on the seat, the lumpiness due to the half dozen weapons concealed within and beneath them. “That just makes me wish I could bring a gun.”

“Next time,” Cas assured him with an indulgent little smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

Jerry led them into the airport through the main terminal entrance so they’d be able to see all the terrain their mystery monster had interfered with, from the curbside baggage handlers, to the ticket counters, to the currency exchange kiosk. After they’d satisfied themselves that there wasn’t anything blatantly out of the ordinary happening in the crowded terminal, Jerry led them downstairs to the baggage claim area. They walked past a few slowly turning luggage carousels where weary travelers collected their bags, past the customer service counter and several rental car agencies. They had to dodge around a long line at a coffee stand where the barista called out a pleasant good afternoon to Jerry, but he merely waved back with a smile.

Dean glanced over at the barista, and for a second he thought the dude was giving him a suggestive once-over. He’d been about to give the guy a reflexive little smirk when he realized the man hadn’t been looking at him at all. He’d been eyeing up Cas, who’d obliviously continued to follow at Jerry’s heels when Dean slowed down to check out the barista. Now that Dean was walking a few paces behind Cas, he could really appreciate the barista’s taste.

Without letting himself think too hard about why he felt compelled to do so, Dean put himself between Cas’s admirable backside and the barista, his flirtatious smirk morphing into a possessive glare as he glanced back at the man. The barista raised an eyebrow at him in an assessing fashion that was both mildly apologetic and subtly challenging. Dean just shook his head at the guy and picked up his pace until he reached Cas’s side. He rested one hand on the small of Cas’s back and let the lecherous barista drink his fill.

At the warm touch of Dean’s hand against his back, Cas turned just enough to smile at Dean. Fuck that coffee guy. He might get a look at Cas, but Dean was allowed to _touch_ him. And cuddle up with him all night long, too. Dean’s steps nearly faltered as he attempted to physically wrench himself off that line of thinking. This was definitely not the time or place to be mulling over whether or not he should bring up the subject of their road trip bed sharing with Cas. Mostly because he’d acknowledged to himself that he probably _should_ bring it up, at it had become more a question of _when_ and _how_ to bring it up.

Cas caught him by the arm when he stumbled, a concerned frown replacing his soft smile. Dean shrugged off his concern, but laid his hand over Cas’s as both thanks and a promise to explain later. Now he only needed to find a way to delay that explanation until they were back at the bunker, where he could at least find sanctuary in his own room after Cas’s inevitable rejection. He didn’t think he could handle sharing a room, let alone a bed, with Cas once he understood exactly how sharing that bed made Dean feel. No, it was definitely best to put that awkwardness on hold as long as possible. And with that frustrating thought, Jerry used his security badge to unlock a heavy steel door and then led them into the dark underbelly of the airport.

“I was expecting more hustle and bustle,” Dean said as Jerry led them down a drab corridor. “And more luggage, I guess.”

“The operational area’s just at the end of this hall, but I know you want to see where some of the… _victims_ had been found. And my office is around the corner that way,” Jerry said, pointing down another hallway decorated in the same shade of beige complete with scuffed industrial linoleum flooring.

“Living the high life,” Dean joked.

“Such is the life of a federal employee,” Jerry replied. “Well, a real federal employee, anyway. We don’t all get to work out of a classic car.”

“Yeah, well you should see where we’re bunked down for the night. Kinda makes this place feel like a palace.”

Cas squinted at Dean, who shrugged in reply. Their motel wasn’t really all that bad, but Cas at least understood that Dean had been trying to make a joke. Even if it wasn’t actually funny.

Jerry opened the first marked door they came to, and they all stood in the doorway and peered into the single-stall bathroom. “Marcia Davis woke up in the corner there last Friday. Couldn’t remember how she got there, but everyone else at the lost baggage counter says she was only gone from her station for a few minutes. The last thing Marcia remembered was punching in for the day three hours earlier.”

Dean glanced expectantly at Cas, but Cas just shrugged and shook his head. There was no trace of any sort of mojo that he could detect.

Jerry, Dean, and Cas repeated the process with a maintenance closet, the employee break room, a second bathroom, and several small offices. Jerry would unlock the door, explain what had been reported to him regarding each successive room while Cas gave it a quick scan, and then they’d move on to the next. The short tour ended at Jerry’s own office. He invited them inside and shut the door behind them before turning a hopeful look on Dean and Cas.

“So, any thoughts yet?”

Dean yielded the floor to Cas with a wave of his hand.

“I haven’t seen anything to suggest what may be behind the memory lapses, or other strange circumstances. None of the employees I’ve seen so far have been possessed or otherwise magically compromised,” Cas said, and then hesitantly added, “Not that I was able to detect, anyway…”

Jerry blinked a few times and nodded along as if that was an entirely normal thing to say, while Dean tried his best to suppress first his grin, and then his slight frown at Cas’s addendum.

“Whatever’s doing this isn’t leaving a magical trace behind,” Dean said, pushing down his worry for now and focusing on the case. “Which narrows down the list of things we could be dealing with.”

Cas took Dean’s lead and pressed on. “Or else we haven’t been looking in the right places yet. We’ve seen where people have been found, or where they’ve awakened again. But where are they being affected? You mentioned Marcia Davis’s last memory before blacking out had been punching in for the day. Where would that have happened?”

Jerry frowned thoughtfully for a moment. “The time clock’s down the other end of the terminal by the employee entrance.”

“We should probably check it out,” Dean suggested.

“Sure. Quickest way there’s back through the terminal. I’ll take you over there next, and then we can go through security to the airside, since you’ll need to see that anyway,” Jerry said, pushing between Dean and Cas and leading them back out the door. “We’ll need to backtrack a bit.”

“Airside?” Dean said weakly.

Jerry huffed out a laugh. “Still not fond of flying, Dean? Don’t worry, it’s just the side of the building accessible to airplanes. Nobody’s gonna shove you on a plane against your will.”

“Since you called us in because folks here are being knocked out and having their memories wiped, that’s not an entirely comforting statement,” Dean replied, more tersely than was technically polite.

Cas rested a hand on Dean’s shoulder as they walked, which really _was_ comforting. His hand stayed there as Jerry led them down a different and better decorated corridor lined with airline offices, shipping companies, aircraft maintenance, and other businesses that operated out of the airport.

“Far as we know, none of these guys have been hit by whatever’s been happening here,” Jerry said, pointing up and down the hallway. “The contractors have so far been immune. Either that, or the fact they operate independently means nobody in these offices talks to each other enough to have noticed a suspicious pattern yet. It took two weeks, and two people getting found _sleeping on the job_ for my people to start circulating rumors.”

He led them through another heavy security door and back into the main baggage claim area, directly across from the coffee shop with the overly-friendly barista. The line from earlier had disappeared, the customers served and sent on their way. That gave the now bored barista plenty of time to ogle Cas again as they crossed back in front of his counter. Dean only spared him a second-long glance to notice the man’s sour look as he watched Dean walk by with Cas’s hand still firmly holding on to his shoulder. Cas didn’t even glance in the man’s direction, which seemed to frustrate the barista even more. Yeah, Dean wouldn’t be letting that guy make him a coffee any time soon.

Jerry used his security badge to swipe them through a different door at the other side of the bag claim area. The first thing they encountered was a small emergency preparedness office that resembled a cross between a police annex and a school nurse’s office.  They walked right through what was clearly the law enforcement and security wing of the airport to a bland and functional lobby by the main employee entrance.

“Every employee in or out has to check in here,” Jerry said, leading them over to a computerized panel on the wall beside the door. He held up his security badge and mimed swiping it through the machine. “You need to swipe a badge and enter the corresponding password, then the unit captures a photo of the person punching in or out.”

“That thing’s got facial recognition?” Dean asked, side-eyeing the unit and taking a small step back as if waiting for it to send out the alarm that a deceased most wanted felon had invaded the airport.

“Hardly,” Jerry replied with a scoff. “It only takes the picture when someone’s code has been entered and there’s a human face within the camera’s range. The alarm trips if someone’s got their face covered, or if they step away too quickly, or try to stand outside the frame. Otherwise it just records what it sees.”

“So it’s possible to get in the building with someone else’s badge, but at least there’s a record of it after the fact,” Dean said, feeling a bit more at ease personally, even if it wouldn’t immediately help with their case.

“It’s not a perfect system, but we’re a small airport. Not exactly high priority for high tech security upgrades, but also not a glamorous target for criminals.” Jerry replied.

Throughout their conversation, Cas had been squinting at the time clock, but now he walked right up to it and touched two fingers to the device before leaning to the side and glancing through the glass doors to the employee parking lot beyond.

“You got something, Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas slowly shook his head, rubbing the tips of his fingers together as if he expected to be able to feel something on them after touching the computer panel. “I’m not sure. It may be nothing…” Cas frowned down at his hand and then dropped it to his side, attempting out of habit to slide it into the pocket of the trench coat he’d left behind in the trunk of the Impala now that he tried to stick to a more seasonally appropriate human wardrobe.

It was Dean’s turn to comfort Cas with a hand on his shoulder, and he spoke quietly but firmly while he tried to catch Cas’s eye. “We’ll put it on the list of potentially weird shit, then.”

Cas looked up and smiled a little sadly, but nodded.

“There hasn’t been an incident at this end of the terminal,” Jerry said. “So we can skip the tour of the emergency services division for now, and head right up to the security checkpoint if you’re ready. We can go back through baggage claim to the public escalator, or take the stairs here. It’s up to you.”

Dean thought about it for only a split second. The stairs were closer, and they wouldn’t have to walk by the coffee shop and the leering barista again. It wasn’t even a choice. “Stairs are fine with us.”

Jerry smirked at them and turned to open the heavy fire door to lead them up the double flight of stairs. “Did I mention it was a really long flight of stairs?”

Dean snorted, thinking of the spiral stairs and the iron staircase in the war room back at the bunker. “We’re used to it,” he replied.

The staircase spat them out in a narrow hallway that led them back out to the main ticketing concourse. It was just as busy as it had been an hour ago, and there were several dozen people waiting in line to get through the security checkpoint. Jerry led them around the corralled general public right up to the front of the line. He flashed his badge to the uniformed agent matching up passenger tickets with their identification. The man nodded Jerry through, but stopped Dean and Cas and asked to see some identification. Dean shared a sideways glance at Cas, because they’d been practicing this since the awkwardness back in Dodge City last year. Cas nodded back confidently, already pulling out the wallet with his Homeland Security badge and displaying it for the guard without any unnecessary babbling. Dean was so busy beaming at Cas that he barely noticed when the guard waved them through.

“Shoes off,” Jerry said, handing them a grey plastic tub. “And everything out of your pockets.”

“Yeah, we know the drill,” Dean replied, mostly to keep up the ruse that they were actual Homeland Security Agents who weren’t completely incompetent at their jobs, now that they’d had to flash their badges.

Cas scanned the area as they waited to walk through the metal detector, and then waited again for their shoes and belongings to pass through the scanner. He made it through the contraption without setting off any alarms, but Dean wasn’t so lucky. Cas calmly stepped aside and put his shoes back on while Dean scrambled for his badge and exchanged a few quiet words with the security supervisor about why he was carrying a concealed knife. It took a second intervention from Jerry, but after a few minutes Dean and his knife were allowed through to the gates.

Dean scowled when he noticed Cas standing a few yards away, waiting patiently while Dean jammed his feet back into his boots and snatched up his wallet, keys, and phone. “You think that’s funny? I get hassled over a four inch knife, when I know damn well you got a fucking sword stashed on you somewhere?”

Cas just shrugged. “Angel blades are apparently immune to metal detectors.”

Dean considered that for a moment, trying to figure out how he could comfortably hide one on his person, and whether it would be worth it. “Huh. Good to know.”

Jerry stood a few feet away, already back in his own shoes, patiently waiting for them. He cleared his throat to get their attention and waved them along. Dean shot Cas a little smirk and they headed off after Jerry, who began quietly giving them more details once they’d caught up and had successfully navigated around a slow-moving cluster of passengers headed toward their gates.

“We haven’t noticed anything hinky in the passenger gate areas either. None of the gate agents have had any troubles, and as far as we know none of the vendors back this way have either. But we’re through security now, and the majority of trouble has been on this side of the building; down on the ramps and at customs.”

They went through yet another door that Jerry had to swipe his badge to open, and down yet another long flight of stairs. As Jerry pushed open the door at the bottom, they were hit with a wall of noise.

“Give it a minute,” Jerry yelled over the roar of a jet engine, while Dean and Cas clamped their hands to their ears.

A small puddle jumper of a jet rolled to a halt outside an open bay door and the ground crew scrambled to push a rolling staircase over to the door as the engines throttled down and eventually cut out entirely. The small plane became a hive of activity for a few minutes, and Jerry kept Dean and Cas a short distance away while he narrated the entire scene like a wildlife documentarian describing a pack of hyenas skeletonizing their kill.

“And have any of these crew members experienced memory lapses?” Cas interrupted a few minutes later as two dozen passengers filed off the small plane. “Or other difficulties?”

Jerry nodded, pointing to the crew emptying the cargo hold onto a luggage hauler. “Most of the guys have been hit at least twice. Just thought it might help if you got to see what their jobs entailed.”

Dean nodded absently, focused intently on the three dimensional Tetris game the baggage handlers played, neatly and efficiently piling forty or so suitcases onto the hauler before it zoomed off through another bay door toward the baggage claim area. Jerry led them off at a slower pace to follow the tram to the inspection and bag handling area.

“Everything’s inspected at the originating airport, but depending on where the flight’s coming from, we have different procedures here. We only have a few international flights a day, but they always get a full inspection before everything gets cleared through customs.”

“I think we’re gonna need a schedule of who got whammied when, so we can match it up to which flights came and went during their unscheduled naps,” Dean said, as the luggage cart they’d been following parked beside the back end of one of the baggage claim carousels.

A security officer led a very energetic German shepherd around the luggage as several other employees began checking the tags and tossing the bags onto the conveyor belt that would carry them back to their owners.

Dean leaned over to Cas, pointing out the dog, who’d apparently declared the luggage free of whatever it was trained to sniff out. Having completed its task, it sat and waited patiently for its handler to dispense a treat. “Sam shoulda been here to see this.”

As if mentioning his name had summoned his brother, Dean’s phone buzzed in his pocket.

“Huh, he’s in the parking lot outside.” Dean turned to Jerry. “Where can Sam meet up with us?”

“I was gonna take you through the customs inspection areas, and then we can walk out through baggage claim. Sam can meet us out there in about ten minutes if he doesn’t mind waiting.”

Dean texted Sam back with the information and then they headed off to the international arrivals gate.


	4. Chapter 4

The airport was small enough that it didn’t have an entire terminal for international arrivals and departures, only the last two gates at the end of the main terminal. Arriving passengers were herded down a separate corridor to the customs station, while their luggage was given the full inspection treatment in a small corner of the regular baggage handling area.

Dean and Cas watched the last few passengers from the most recent flight make their way through inspection, answering questions about their travel and what they’d brought into the country while their bags were unceremoniously riffled through. Amid the fascinating and mortifying spectacle, Jerry rambled on about how the customs procedure for these passengers was identical to the procedure for all the cargo that came through the airport via several small charter carriers.

“We walked by their offices earlier, but they’re only responsible for operating the planes. Our ground crews handle everything else, loading and unloading and inspection, and you saw that whole operation.”

Sam had read out all the immigration and customs regulations from the TSA website as they drove across Indiana the day before. It had only been marginally less dull than the drive across Indiana, but it ensured Dean and Cas knew what they were watching for as Jerry led them from the currently deserted customs inspection room. The next incoming international flight wasn’t due to arrive for another half hour, so they caught the operations at a lull. As the last passenger zipped up their laptop bag and headed out to claim the rest of his luggage, the half dozen airport employees stationed there followed behind him on their break.

Three long counters stood empty, and only one inspection agent stood off to the side, chatting quietly with an airport security officer by the exit. She glanced at a clock on the wall and then frowned over at Jerry as he called out a hello to her.

“Not a passenger, Viv, Sandy.” He waved at the women. “Just passing through.”

The two women gave him a little nod and then eyeballed Dean and Cas for a few seconds. Dean was about to reach for his badge when the officer-- Sandy-- gave him a little smirk and a nod, and then went right back to her conversation with Viv. Jerry shook his head fondly and pushed through the glass doors leading out to yet another hallway. Another set of glass doors deposited them right back in the baggage claim area, not thirty yards from the coffee kiosk.

Dean immediately spotted Sam ordering himself some sort of coffee drink drowned in milk and whipped cream from the same barista who’d felt up Cas with his gaze. The creepy barista smiled flirtatiously at Sam while drizzling a caramel swirl atop his coffee, and then fucking _winked_ at him as he slid the cup across the counter to Sam. Dean couldn’t help the ugly little snorting noise he made, mentally daring the bastard to even _think_ of looking at Cas again.

Sam took a sip of his drink, dropped his change in the tip jar on the counter, and exchanged a few final words with the barista before turning around and spotting Dean and Cas in the crowd. He resisted the idiotic urge to wave, instead running his raised hand through his hair and trying to make it look natural. Dean had been about to make fun of him for it when he noticed the barista watching them all intently.

“How’s the frappuccino?” Dean asked, holding eye contact with the barista for just a few more seconds before looking at Sam.

“It’s a caramel macchiato,” Sam said, before rolling his eyes and turning to Jerry. “So what did I miss?”

Jerry looked between the Winchesters. “I think we covered everything, but I‘ll leave it to you guys to figure out what’s relevant. I can send you copies of the international and cargo arrivals and departures, and anything else you think you might need.”

Dean nodded. “I think that should do it for now.”

“We’ll let you know if we need anything else,” Sam said. “We’re just down the road at the Runway Motel, so we can be back here in less than ten minutes if there’s another… incident.”

“I’ve got you on speed dial,” Jerry replied shaking Sam’s hand, and then Dean’s and Cas’s. “I hope we figure this out soon. I can’t afford to lose any more employees over this, but the longer it goes on, the more sinister the rumors get, and people are scared.”

“We’ll do our best to put the rumor mill out of business,” Cas replied earnestly, and then looked extremely pleased with himself for that little turn of phrase.

Sam stood there bemused, while Dean looked just about as pleased as Cas was. Jerry looked between the three of them at a loss, as if he’d missed something and wasn’t quite sure how to ask what it was. After a moment he decided it wasn’t urgent and slapped Sam on the back.

“Time to get back to work, I guess, before folks start thinking I’m the next blackout victim.”

“Thanks again, Jerry,” Sam replied, waving after him as Jerry walked back across the terminal. When he was out of earshot, Sam turned to Dean and Cas.

Dean just held out his hand. Sam looked confused for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if Dean was asking for his macchiato, and then remembered. Car keys. Sam rolled his eyes, fished them out of his pocket and dropped them into Dean’s hand.

“So, what’s the theory?” Sam asked, just standing there in a quiet corner of the terminal sipping his coffee.

Dean glanced around and noticed the barista was still side eyeing them every chance he got, despite the fact he had several customers he should’ve been attending to. Something about the guy was pinging an insistent little alarm bell in his head, and it wasn’t just the fact that the man had been an annoying creeper. Dean laid even odds in his own mind that the dude would end up being involved in this weirdness somehow. He couldn’t even begin to imagine _how_ a coffee shop employee had been involved in whatever had left a dozen or so random employees with memory lapses, so there was no way in hell he was sharing this little theory with Sam and Cas yet. Sam would tease him mercilessly, and Cas would probably want to go interrogate the dude while they were right there, when the last thing Dean wanted was to give Cas a reason to get anywhere near the guy. He’d do his level best to keep that from happening, if for no other reason than because it felt good in a vindictively petty way to keep the creep from getting what he apparently wanted. Cas was _his_ , dammit.

The overwhelming gut punch that thought gave him was enough to snap Dean out of whatever weird tangent his mind wandered down and brought him back to the situation at hand.  He was still inside an airport, and that sealed the deal.

“Right. We’re out of here for now,” Dean said, absently reaching to tug Cas by the sleeve of his coat like he’d grown accustomed to. What he wasn’t accustomed to was Cas leaving the trenchcoat, and even his suit jacket, behind in the car. He wasn’t accustomed to Cas rolling up his sleeves, either. Instead of a handful of tan canvas, Dean got a handful of Cas’s tanned wrist. And holy hell…

The barista was now staring openly at them, so instead of dropping Cas’s hand and making some sort of half-assed apology, Dean glared at the guy and then turned to see the look of surprise on Cas’s face. Dean held Cas’s eyes to make sure he was okay with it as he slipped his hand down Cas’s wrist and twined their fingers together. He was relieved that Cas had not only not objected, but that he’d seemed quietly pleased about this strange development. Cas gave his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Without another word, or even another backward glance at the barista, they got their shit together enough to follow Sam out to where he’d parked the car. For the first time all day, Dean was grateful for the last minute wardrobe adjustment.

Until he remembered their jackets-- and most of their weapons-- were still draped over the back seat of Jerry’s SUV. After a short detour through the parking lot and one jimmied door lock, they’d retrieved their belongings. Sam left a quick note of apology in case Jerry noticed his car had been burgled, while Dean and Cas pulled on their jackets and returned all their weapons to their full upright and locked positions.

“That’s not even funny, Dean,” Sam said, as Cas smirked at the stupid joke. Sam rolled his eyes and stomped off toward where he’d left the Impala.

Cas leaned into Dean’s shoulder. “I thought it was clever.”

Dean grinned at him and was insanely gratified that, even without a reasonable excuse, Cas reached down and took his hand again. Like this was just gonna be a thing now. In just a few hours Dean had gone from feeling guiltily grateful he had an excuse to share Cas’s bed for a few more nights and thinking of it as a sort of last hurrah before he finally nutted up and confessed how much he secretly enjoyed it, to Cas wanting to hold hands in public. He’d thought fessing up would put an end to their road trip sleeping arrangements for good, but the reassuring feel of Cas’s warm hand wrapped around his gave him a dangerous amount of hope that maybe Cas wouldn’t freak and run on him when he knew the truth.

Cas sat in the back seat all the way to their motel while Sam filled them in on his afternoon. He’d visited Todd Levitt and his wife first, and despite three blackout incidents on the job that had driven him to get a full medical evaluation, he’d had an entirely uneventful week at home. The doctors couldn’t find anything wrong with him, or any medical reason that he had hours of time at work he couldn’t account for-- and certainly nothing to explain waking up to find himself locked in a supply closet.

“He banged on the door and shouted holy hell for a good forty five minutes before anyone heard him, but everyone he works with swears he’d only been missing for less than ten minutes when they went looking for him,” Sam informed them as he paged through his notes.

“So he’s a baggage handler?” Dean asked

Sam nodded. “Yeah, he mostly works with small charters. He said it was some sort of specialized position. Freight mostly, instead of passenger flights.”

Dean glanced up at the rear view mirror to find Cas meeting his gaze thoughtfully. “Yeah, we saw the baggage areas. Freight gets handled with extra security, whether it’s international or domestic.”

“Hmm, could be whoever’s messing with his memory needed his security clearance,” Sam suggested.

“That’s why I had Jerry forward you the international and cargo flight info,” Dean said, finally turning into their motel parking lot. It was kind of a dive, so that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but at least it was close to the airport.

“You want to see if there’s a pattern that matches up to the memory loss incidents,” Sam said, turning in his seat to include Cas in the conversation. “But how does Regina Bryce’s incident fit with that. She was the supervisor in charge of the passenger screening checkpoint. That’s like, as far as you can get from cargo handling.”

“Has anyone new been hired to fill her position?” Cas asked, and Sam snorted.

“She told me Jerry’s called her twice begging her to come back. He’s got her assistant temporarily handing her duties, but he told her about us.”

Dean was glad he’d already parked the car, because he whipped his head around and glared at Sam. “He _told_ her about us?”

Sam held up a placating hand. “He told her he had a team of specialists who were handling the problem, and she worked out for herself that we must be hunters.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up at that. “So she knows about hunters. And she knows enough about the spooky shit to guess this might be the kind of problem that needs hunters to fix. She have any advice on what we should be looking out for?”

Sam squirmed in his seat and swirled the dregs of his coffee around the bottom of his cup. “She, uh… suggested I order a coffee from Roger the barista.”

“Roger. Is that’s the creep’s name?” Dean asked, now glaring at Sam. “She thinks he’s involved?” Sam nodded, and Dean ran one hand down his face in exasperation. “And you _drank_ the coffee?”

Sam shrugged. “I was just some random customer. He didn’t have a reason to poison me. Or put a spell on me or whatever. He didn’t know me from Adam.”

“We gotta work on your survival skills, Sammy.”

Cas leaned forward over the seat, the voice of reason keeping them on point. “Did you learn anything from the man?”

“Other than that he apparently flirts with everything on two legs?” Sam replied. “I’d bet money on him being a witch, just like Regina insisted. But that doesn’t mean anything. It still doesn’t explain how people from all over the airport are apparently being temporarily knocked out and replaced by exact copies of themselves.”

“Or why,” Dean added.

Sam and Cas both nodded.

“You guys got a theory on what we’re dealing with yet?”

Cas frowned. “There were no signs of demon possession, and since all the victims are still alive, as far as we know, I think we can rule out ghouls. Wraiths also seem unlikely, as they may be able to subdue their victims and alter their memories, but they can’t impersonate their victims in front of large crowds of people.”

Dean turned to Cas, concerned and gentle. “You picked up something from the time clock, didn’t you? What was that about?”

Cas hesitated, looking everywhere but at Dean. He finally settled apologetic eyes on Sam before slumping in resignation and turning to Dean. “I think I’d prefer to continue this discussion in the room, if that’s agreeable. It will require some explanation.”

Dean’s frown deepened, but he nodded slowly. “Sure, Cas. Whatever you want. We can change out of the monkey suits and order pizza.”

Cas smiled gratefully as they got out of the car. He’d been keeping his grace situation to himself for weeks, and he’d hoped he could put off telling Dean about it until after this case. Or even longer, if possible. It was difficult enough thinking about his resolution to tell Dean his feelings about their bed sharing without the additional burden of confessing that he was slowly becoming human again. The powers that Dean relied on to solve their cases were failing him on a regular basis now. Sam and Dean deserved to know that he was no longer capable of acting as their guardian angel. Cas had been terrified that they wouldn’t have a use for him anymore, but after Dean took his hand in the airport, and then didn’t object when he’d grasped Dean’s hand in the parking lot, Cas was beginning to feel hopeful that Dean truly meant what he’d said all those years ago when he’d been human before. One way or the other, at least he was about to find out for sure.


	5. Chapter 5

Ten minutes later they’d all changed into something more comfortable and two large pizzas were on the way to their room. Cas’s version of _more comfortable_ was to put on his full suit and trench coat that he hadn’t worn in nearly a month. He left his tie neatly folded in his pocket, but he felt it would be easier for Dean to hear what he needed to say if he looked as normal as possible. Or maybe Cas just felt safer saying it wrapped in the armor he’d been wearing for more than a decade.

For a moment, Cas thought he’d made the wrong choice when Dean’s brow pinched up as he pulled on his trench coat, but Dean didn’t say anything and he offered Cas a weak little smile as he opened a beer and sat down at the small table to wait for their food. Sam occupied the other chair, his laptop open and downloading all the spreadsheets Jerry had forwarded to them while he collated all his paperwork and notes. Cas took a deep breath and sat on the foot of the bed closest to Dean. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, hands clasped almost in prayer. When that thought occurred to him, it brought a smile to Cas’s face for a split second as he worked out where he should begin.

“You may have noticed that my angel skills have been rusty,” he started, resisting the temptation to use finger quotes where he’d once said something very similar about his people skills.

Dean snorted and grinned at him over the neck of his beer, but Sam frowned at him. Perhaps Sam didn’t recall that reference, or maybe it brought back a host of other uncomfortable memories from that terrible time when he’d been soulless. Cas didn’t particularly want to dwell on it either, so it would probably be best not to drag this out. Cas cleared his throat and turned back to Dean.

“I did sense something from the timeclock, but I’m not entirely sure what it was. A trace of magical residue. If pressed to guess, I’d suggest it was likely witchcraft, but the trace was miniscule and at least several days old. I wouldn’t be comfortable assuming anything more definitively.”

It was Dean’s turn to frown at Cas now, all his thoughts narrowing down to concern for his friend and every case-related question flying out the window. At least Sam still had his eye on the bigger picture, especially now that he had reams of flight schedules, passenger lists, employee time cards and shipping manifests to sort through. He started scrolling through the documents, taking notes and assembling all the relevant data into a new document as he wondered aloud.

“What sort of magic would someone need to do to a time clock? Is someone fudging their time cards?”

When neither Dean nor Cas replied to him for a good ten seconds, Sam glanced up from his work to see Dean staring morosely at Cas, and Cas staring apologetically back at him. He typically tried to stay out of their staring matches, but they were in the middle of a case. They could stare on their own time. Sam cleared his throat and asked again.

Cas replied with a slow shake of his head, finally tearing his eyes away from Dean. “I don’t believe so, but you should have the time clock records in your files. When we narrow down our suspect list, we can review the security footage from their recent shifts.”

Sam nodded, waiting for a moment in case Cas had something more to say before returning to his work.

Dean pressed on cautiously, for several reasons. He was worried about Cas, and had been for a while. He’d noticed Cas’s deliberate wardrobe selection, and after weeks of watching Cas gradually adapt to a more casual relationship with clothing, seeing him don the trench when he’d typically choose to match his outfit to Dean’s set him on edge. Either Cas was about to drop something huge on them and was gearing himself up to leave-- or be kicked out-- as was Dean’s constant low-level fear anyway, or whatever he was about to tell them was unsettling enough to Cas that he’d put on the coat like some sort of security blanket. Either way, Dean wasn’t going to push him too hard. Flashes of Cas in a dingy shirt and yoga pants in that depressing as fuck vision of the post-apocalyptic Croatoan-soaked future mingled with memories of him high on Purgatory souls and bleeding leviathan goo from his pores in a miasma of the worst of all possible versions of his friend, but Dean wouldn’t let any of his past failures stop him from trying to do his best for Cas now. He desperately shoved down the memory of the first time he’d seen Cas human, for the entire three seconds before a reaper shoved an angel blade through Cas’s heart, and took a slow, steadying breath.

“So your mojo’s on the fritz,” Dean started, noting the tiny flash of panic in Cas’s eyes. He set down his beer and leaned forward in his seat, mirroring Cas’s posture. “Kinda hard not to notice.”

Cas studied his hands; anything to avoid having to look in Dean’s eyes and see any sort of judgment there; or maybe worse-- disappointment, or even fear. “I wasn’t trying to hide it from you, but yes. When I chose to stay with you, I knew that this would be the inevitable result. I would fall completely, but gradually. The process seems to be nearly complete now.”

Cas glanced up to see Dean not upset exactly, but concerned, his attention focused on Cas’s clasped hands. He’d honestly hoped to be able to have this conversation with Dean alone, but Sam had stopped typing and yet seemed to understand that this was not the time for him to intrude. Cas was silently grateful for it while he waited for Dean to respond. Dean took a long steadying breath and looked up at him.

“Are you okay with that?”

“I think the more important question is are _you_ okay with it?”

Dean blinked, completely bewildered by Cas’s concern for him. “It’s… this isn’t about me, Cas. The only thing I care about here is you. I’m not the one changing species this time.”

“I chose this, Dean,” Cas said, a small smile threatening at the corners of his mouth. “I knew full well what the consequences would be. Knowing that I’d have at least these few months to adapt before I’d be completely human again. If… if that’s not…” He took a deep breath and pressed on. “If I’m no longer useful to you this way, I can make other arrangements.”

Dean reared back and gawped at him. “Useful? Cas, this ain’t got nothing to do with being useful. You’re family, no matter what, okay? You damn well better not make any other fucking _arrangements_. If you’re gonna be human now, you’re stuck with me.” Dean cast a nervous glance over at Sam, who was studiously focused on his laptop screen, and in a quieter voice added. “You’re stuck with us, okay? So I care how you’re doing. You don’t gotta keep shit like this to yourself, you know.”

Cas swallowed hard at the sincerity tinged with a bit of hurt in Dean’s voice, and nodded. “Thank you, Dean. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Sam flinched when someone knocked on the door. He’d been so focused on trying to mentally will himself out of the room to give Dean and Cas a little privacy that he wasn’t sure if the interruption was a relief or a curse. He sprang out of his chair and rushed to answer the door without so much as a glance at Dean and Cas. Sam paid for the pizza and then handed the boxes to Dean. It wasn’t the most awkward way to get himself out of there for a few minutes, but it wasn’t the least awkward either. He was already standing at the door, though, so he made the most of it.

“I’m gonna run across the street to the Gas n Sip and grab a drink. You guys want anything?”

“No, thank you, Sam,” Cas said, looking more relaxed than he had the last time Sam had dared to peek over his monitor. “I think I’ll have one of Dean’s beers, if that’s all right.”

Dean just nodded without acknowledging Sam at all, and he took the opportunity to smile at Cas. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re sticking around.” And then Sam was out the door.

The room was dead silent in the wake of Sam’s abrupt departure, and the tension between them ratcheted up a few more notches before Dean stole a glance at the closed door and was hit with the overwhelming urge to clear the air before Sam returned. He broke the silence in a hushed voice.

“He ain’t gonna be gone long, but I think there’s some major shit we need to talk about.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “I agree.”

Dean blew out a relieved breath and ran a hand through his hair before looking back up at Cas. “You swear you’ll stick around long enough to work it all out? ‘Cause if we have that conversation, and then you leave again…”

Cas squared his shoulders and looked Dean right in the eye. “Nothing you could possibly say would make me want to leave again, Dean.”

Dean stood up and stepped closer to Cas, reaching out one hand to tug at the collar of his coat. “Then take this thing off, make yourself comfortable, and have some pizza. After dinner, you and me are gonna go for a nice long drive.”

Cas nodded, standing up to remove his coat. Dean squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him before sidestepping around him to get a couple of cold beers out of the fridge for them. By the time Sam came back, Cas had changed into jeans and Dean’s old grey henley, and both of them were sitting at the table eating out of the same pizza box. Sam groaned and rolled his eyes, but grabbed the second pizza and his laptop, and took them and his large smoothie to his bed. He’d barely finished his first slice of pizza before Dean’s phone rang. Dean frowned down at the phone and glanced between Cas and Sam, announcing it was Jerry calling before checking the time and putting it on speaker.

“Jerry, I figured you’d be home by now.”

“I was home,” Jerry replied, sounding tense and distressed. “I just got through the door when I got called back into the office.”

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, setting aside his dinner and walking around the bed to be closer to Dean’s phone. “Was there another incident?”

Jerry made a few discontented noises before finally settling on what to say. “I… I think you need to get over here ASAP. If you boys weren’t already in town, my gut instinct would be to call the CDC.”

Cas scrambled to get his shoes on as Sam packed up his laptop. Dean set the phone down on the table so he could pull his jacket on, but he tried to both keep Jerry calm and figure out what they were about to walk into.

“What did you find, Jerry?”

“It just looks like… skin… but melting…”

Jerry must’ve put his hand over his phone, because for a few moments they only heard a muffled and indistinct conversation. Dean was already out the door with Sam and Cas right behind him by the time Jerry came back on the line.

“Sorry, I’m trying to keep this contained,” Jerry said quietly, as Dean exchanged a knowing look with Sam. “I mean the fact that I just found a melted lump of skin in the server room, not the skin itself. Though that’s probably a good idea too, until we know that whatever’s messing with my employees didn’t just melt one of them with a death ray or something…”

It was Cas who helpfully chimed in with, “If it helps, we’re confident it wasn’t a death ray.”

Dean couldn’t help the grin he shot Cas as he backed out of the motel parking lot and turned toward the airport. “Where exactly are you right now?”

“I’m, uh… In the main ticketing server room, but I can meet you at the employee entrance.”

“Good, we’ll be there in five minutes,” Dean said, staying on the line to make sure Jerry wasn’t in shock and was still able to function.

After a quiet moment, Jerry finally replied and they heard the sound of a door clicking shut and his footsteps echoing in an empty hallway. “Yes. Good. I’ll meet you there right now.”

The call disconnected and Dean stepped on the gas.

“So I guess it’s a shifter after all,” Sam said as they raced toward the airport.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean sped into the parking lot and took the first spot he saw. The three of them got out of the car and went straight to the trunk, quickly and methodically sorting through their weapons. Dean swapped out the magazine of his gun for one loaded with silver and grabbed a short silver knife while he was at it. Sam did the same, tucking the demon blade into his jacket just in case. Even Cas picked up a silver knife, turning it over in his hands before sliding it into his pocket, despite the fact his angel blade would be perfectly effective against a shapeshifter, or pretty much anything else they might run into. Dean looked at him curiously, but Cas just shrugged.

“It never hurts to be over-prepared,” Cas said as Dean slammed the trunk and they jogged toward the building.

True to his word, Jerry was standing at the employee entrance holding the door open for them. With nothing more than a terse nod in greeting, he marched them business-like up the long flight of stairs he’d brought Dean and Cas up earlier that afternoon. They moved swiftly through the security offices, and luckily didn’t encounter anyone to question who they were or why they were in such a hurry.

The terminal was quieter than it had been at peak rush hour, but there were still plenty of passengers arriving and departing, as well as a full staff of employees going about their usual business, none the wiser that at least one of them might not be who they seem. Jerry led them a short way through the public area to a steel door that required both his badge swipe as well as a passcode. As soon as the heavy door clanged shut behind them blotting out the noise of the terminal, Jerry held up one hand, glancing around nervously as he stopped them in their tracks and looked between them with barely contained horror.

“Before we go any farther, just tell me whatever caused that…” He waved a hand vaguely down the corridor and swallowed hard. “That _whatever_ it is in the server room… It’s not contagious, right?”

Dean had to bite his lip to keep from laughing, but luckily Sam was on hand to play the grownup, shooting Dean an exasperated glare. Cas waited with barely contained patience while Sam reassured Jerry.

“If it’s what we think it is, then no,” Sam said gently. “Can you tell us what happened?”

Jerry took a few gulping breaths and nodded. “I got home about half an hour ago, hadn’t even loosened my tie before my phone rang. Guy on the line tells me something terrible happened in the server room and I needed to get my ass back there immediately.”

“You know who it was?” Dean asked.

Jerry shook his head, but he looked calmer and more focused the longer he talked. “No, and that’s the thing. There’s only a handful of people in the entire airport with the security clearance to get back here, and I know all of them.”

“That would imply your mystery caller was one of those people,” Cas said. “If so, why would they attempt to disguise their voice?”

“That’s the sixty-four dollar question,” Dean said.

“I didn’t even think to call you guys,” Jerry said, looking upset with himself over the lapse. “I was more concerned about the potential security breach than my own safety, I guess. It was stupid. That… _puddle_ could’ve been _me_ in there…”

Sam reached out and laid a steadying hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “I don’t know if this makes it better or worse, but what’s in there isn’t a person.”

When Sam’s reassurance landed less reassuringly than he’d hoped, Dean tried redirecting them back to the urgent business at hand. Focusing on the facts had worked for Jerry before. “Why don’t you show us the _eech_ so we can get that outta the way, and then we can worry about the security breach.”

Now that he had a clear-cut mission, Jerry took a deep breath and turned on his heel to lead them down the hall to the server room. “Thing is, we haven’t had a security breach. This entire area is heavily controlled. All access is restricted and any breach would’ve immediately alerted Homeland Security. It’s the safest and most secure hallway in the entire airport.”

“So who’d know to tip you off specifically about this?” Dean asked, as Jerry entered his password into the keypad beside an otherwise nondescript door. “And how did they know nobody else would find it first?”

“Someone who knows the security protocols,” Sam suggested. “And someone who figured out you were taking a couple of hunters on the grand tour this afternoon. They had to know you’d call us back in for this.”

Dean shot Sam a discontented glare and drew his gun. There was no point pussyfooting around anymore if there was any chance their monster was on to them. Jerry got the door unlocked and reached for the handle, but Dean nudged him aside with a muttered _it could be a trap_. Jerry went wide-eyed at the serious set to Dean’s face, and backed out of the way when he noticed the gun in his hand.

Cas hung back as Dean pushed through the door, Sam right on his heels. He cast Jerry a reassuring nod before letting his angel blade drop into his hand and slipping into the room after them.

The room itself was crowded with racks of computer servers, one small work table set off to one side. On the floor beside the table sat the gooey remains of a hastily shed shifter skin. Dean nudged it with the toe of his boot and frowned.

“So we got at least one shifter with an all access pass,” Dean said.

“Or at the very least it had assumed the identity of someone with top level security clearance,” Cas replied.

“Regina Bryce,” Jerry said, risking a glance in through the doorway. “Or at least she’d had security clearance before she quit.”

“That’s probably why she refused to come back to work,” Sam said, as the pieces began to slide together. He looked right at Jerry. “She assumed her security clearance was rescinded when she quit, but it wasn’t, was it?”

Jerry shook his head grimly. “I hadn’t put through her resignation paperwork yet. I was hoping you’d figure out what was wrong, and I could convince her to come back.”

“She was trying to stop it by taking herself out of the equation,” Dean said, an impressed look on his face as he turned to Sam for confirmation.

Jerry stepped into the room, keeping as much distance between himself and the goo puddle as he could in the cramped quarters as he edged around to the computer terminal on the work table. “I can put a freeze on all her passwords. I could’ve done it a week ago if I’d known it would’ve helped.”

“Can you check to see if her codes were used anywhere else?” Sam asked, leaning over his shoulder.

“Hey, would she need to use the time clock?” Dean asked, casting a significant glance at Cas.

Jerry typed away, his attention focused on carrying out Sam’s request, but he answered absently, “Regina’s not hourly, so she didn’t clock in for a time card, but she’d have to sign in to activate her access to the rest of the facility.”

“So _someone_ had to trick the time clock into thinking she was still in the building,” Dean replied, and Cas’s eyes went wide.

“That could account for the residual magical trace I picked up.”

Dean had been aiming for a reassuring pat on the shoulder, but somehow when he reached his hand out it landed on Cas’s back. Instead of a quick tap, Dean’s hand crept its way across his back and around to his opposite shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze and then not letting go. Cas leaned into the touch, giving Dean a small pleased smile. Dean was about to say something potentially regrettable-- or at the very least un-take-backable and mortifying under the present circumstances-- when Jerry stood up and saved his bacon.

“Regina’s code was used in the cargo inspection bay five minutes ago. Whoever used it is probably still there.”

“How fast can we get there from here?” Sam asked, stepping easily over the shifter’s shed skin toward the doorway.

“Technically we need to go through the TSA checkpoint, but since I think this qualifies as a national security issue, there’s a shortcut we can take.” Jerry nearly stepped in the gelatinous mess, made a disgusted face, and then sidestepped carefully around it. “I hope you boys have your badges on you, and I hope this doesn’t end up costing me my job.”

Dean glanced back at the decomposing goop. “Yeah, I don’t know how you’re gonna explain that to the maintenance crew.”

“Oh, not that,” Jerry said with a grimace. “I’ll take care of that myself if I have to. We’re gonna crash customs.”  
“Well, as long as we’re not doing anything that’ll land us in federal prison,” Dean said, following after Jerry with a distressed glance at Sam.

While Jerry locked up the server room and entered a security override code that would prevent anyone else from accidentally stumbling across the unfortunate remains inside, Sam had already moved on to their other immediate concern-- ferreting out their mystery caller.

“I doubt the shifter called in a warning on itself, but you’re sure you don’t know who tipped you off?”

“Whoever it was was definitely male, but they were deliberately disguising their voice,” Jerry said, leading them back down the hall toward the terminal. “I know they were calling from one of the airport courtesy phones. They’re all on the same exchange. I’d have to look up the extension to tell you which one it was.”

“So we got at least one shifter, and at least one other accomplice who maybe got cold feet when we showed up today,” Dean said, tucking his gun back in his belt before they stepped back out into the public part of the terminal.

“And we still have no idea what their goal is,” Cas added.

“Well, whatever it is, I don’t think they’re aiming for any sort of widespread security breach,” Jerry said. “They’ve had unrestricted access for more than a week now, and aside from the unexplained memory loss incidents, this is the first time anything out of the ordinary has happened, at least security-wise.”

“So as soon as we show up they go from Oceans Eleven to Inspector Clouseau?”

“Dean, maybe that’s it,” Sam said, while Jerry led them back through the door to the long staircase.

“What, he shifted into Peter Sellers? You think Cato’s waiting to ambush us on the stairs?”

“No, Dean. Heists. Or at least, smuggling.”

Jerry rounded on Sam and glanced around in a panic, holding one finger up to his mouth and waving them quickly into the stairwell. When the door shut behind him he whispered, “You can’t say the ‘s’ word in a Homeland Security office without someone pricking their ears up about it.”

Sam looked contrite, but waved one hand and explained himself. “I hadn’t finished matching up the cargo manifests you sent me, but I did notice a strange pattern. Every time one of your employees lost time, the inspection reports were one crate short.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this sooner?” Dean asked him.

“I’d only had a chance to go over the first three reports. I didn’t get to study the rest of the records, to compare it to how often freight goes missing under regular circumstances, and airports are sort of known for losing the occasional suitcase here and there,” Sam replied defensively, then turned to Jerry. “No offense, but it happens.”

“None taken,” Jerry replied. “It’s probably why the discrepancies never got reported. Cargo got marked down as lost in transit, but if the customer never reported the lost goods or filed a complaint, that would’ve been the end of it.”

“So robots are stealing my luggage,” Dean said, giving Sam a sad little smile. “It’s the mandroid.”

Sam shook his head. “Ronald was right. Mostly.”

“Who’s Ronald?” Jerry asked, completely confused now.

“A guy who’d worked out just enough of the truth to get himself in trouble,” Dean said, getting back to the point. “So missing cargo. You think some shifter set himself up a one man smuggling ring? You don’t need eleven different people in on the heist when you can play all the parts yourself.”

“And either someone else figured it out, or he had at least one other accomplice somewhere in the airport who saw hunters closing in and decided he wanted out,” Sam replied.

They continued down the stairs to the ground floor and pushed through the door into the baggage claim area. A woman was at the lost baggage counter complaining loudly about a damaged suitcase, and a crowd of weary travelers waited for their luggage at the other end of the concourse. In between there were a few civilians milling about and a handful of employees likely near the end of their shifts as the airport’s daily traffic tapered off for the night. Dean glanced around, scanning the terminal for anyone acting sketchy, and then fixed his eyes on the little coffee shop where Roger the leering barista worked. An older woman was behind the counter filling orders, but Dean spotted Roger peering over the back counter of the shop, almost as if he’d been expecting them to return. Instead of leering this time, Roger’s eyes widened when he’d spotted Dean and Cas, and he quickly ducked down behind the counter.

“Real subtle there, Roger,” Dean muttered under his breath and turned to see Cas had clearly come to the same conclusion.

Cas raised an eyebrow and nodded at Dean. They’d have to come back and have a little chat with Roger, if he didn’t make a run for it first. Either way, if he’d been the one to drop the dime on the shifter, he wasn’t their biggest immediate concern. Jerry was practically jogging toward the customs inspection room trying to keep up with Sam’s long paces, and time was of the essence.

Rather than dealing with the security guard standing watch over the customs exit, Jerry brought them through a different door that put them directly outside customs. It was completely deserted at that time of night, the last international flight of the day having arrived an hour or more earlier. With no one around to hold them up, Jerry detoured to a service elevator that spit them out right into the cargo area, where a small fleet of strange vehicles from luggage carriers to rolling maintenance trucks mounted on scissor lifts were parked. Jerry jumped into a small vehicle that looked like the unholy offspring a golf cart and an armored car and waved them aboard. There was no time to argue about seating arrangements in a vehicle with only one seat as they climbed aboard and held on as best they could.

“Where are we going?” Sam asked as Jerry peeled away and raced toward the end of the terminal.

“Inspections and customs,” Dean said, cautiously reaching for his gun while holding on for dear life as Jerry swerved around a foodservice truck. He and Cas had been there just a few hours earlier, so when Jerry screeched to a halt outside the cargo bay, Dean jumped off and stalked over to the door, closely followed by Cas.

“We got no idea what’s inside,” Sam said, holding Jerry back from following them. “Whoever it is could look like someone you know. You might not wanna watch this.”

“What are you gonna do?” Jerry asked, side-eyeing Dean and Cas as they crept through the partially rolled-up bay door, weapons drawn, and disappeared from view.

Sam sighed. “Hopefully we’re gonna stop the monster that’s been hurting your people.”

Jerry looked like he was about to protest for a second, but then nodded grimly. Sam got it. Jerry was trusting them to stop the monster without hurting anyone else. He returned Jerry’s nod and then took off after Dean and Cas.

The freight inspection warehouse was stacked with cargo waiting to be collected by its owners. Most of the crates had been stamped by inspectors and cleared for pickup already, but a small collection of mismatched crates sat along the far wall adjacent to another door that opened to the public receiving area. Unlike the last time they’d been there, the inspectors and baggage handlers seemed to have gone home for the night. The only activity in the place was two men struggling to shift a large crate onto a dolly by the far door. Dean and Cas heard them talking in hushed but urgent tones long before they saw them around the stacks of freight.

Dean and Cas crouched behind a forklift, watching the two men work. The man closest to the door was dressed in a blue courier company uniform, his features mostly obscured in the shadow of the brim of his hat, while his accomplice wore grease-stained grey mechanic’s coveralls. With his back turned to them, the only distinguishing feature they could make out was a mess of wavy blonde hair.

Sam crept quietly up and joined them behind the forklift. He held up two fingers. Dean nodded back, confirming that they hadn’t seen anyone else in the warehouse.

Just from observing them for a few minutes, both men seemed vaguely familiar-- whether from flipping through employee files or from their earlier tour of the airport Dean wasn’t sure. He spared half a second to wonder which of them had shed the skin they’d found up in the server room. He also wondered if he’d already met either of these individuals with a different face. And dammit that’s why Dean hated shifter cases. You never knew who you were really dealing with.

“We gotta make sure they’re our monsters,” Sam said.

Dean smirked at him and a wicked grin spread across his face.

Sam frowned at him. “Whatever you’re thinking, Dean, please don’t do it.”

Dean winked at Cas, whose frown now rivaled Sam’s, and then stepped out from behind the forklift with his gun raised. “Homeland Security! Put your hands in the air.”

The two men didn’t even bother to set down their crate as they looked over at Dean. The one in the coveralls snorted out a laugh and shook his head, but kept right on walking, shoving the guy at the other side of the crate even closer to the door.

“You can try it G-man, but it’s not like it’s gonna do any good,” greasy overalls said.

It sounded to Dean like pretty strong evidence the guy believed he’d be immune to standard ammo, but for Jerry’s sake he was waiting for cold hard proof before plugging an innocent dude with a silver round. His proof came three seconds later when Cas stood up and tossed his silver knife at the man’s head, the flat of the blade neatly bouncing off his cheek without breaking the skin. If he’d been human, it wouldn’t have even left a mark. Because he wasn’t human, the silver seared his flesh, instantly raising a steaming red welt. The shifter dropped his end of the crate as he screamed in pain, and his accomplice only waited a split second before letting the crate drop, looking around in a panic and then bolting out the door. Dean dropped the stunned and now proven beyond a reasonable doubt shifter with a bullet to the heart, and then all three of them chased after his fleeing accomplice.

He didn’t prove difficult to find. The courier company guy was right outside at the freight delivery and pickup dock, desperately trying to raise the cargo lift on the back of a small box truck. Dean crept right up behind him, his footsteps muffled by the mechanical whir of the lift’s straining motor, his gun raised to the back of the man’s head.

“Yeah, it’s not a great setup for a speedy getaway, is it?”

To Dean’s surprise, the man’s shoulders dropped in defeat as he let out a heavy sigh.

“You should probably just go ahead and shoot me,” the man said. “It’ll probably hurt less than what I got coming otherwise.”

Dean spared a glance at Sam, who looked equally shocked. They now knew that whatever had been going on at the airport involved at least three accomplices, and someone else those accomplices were reporting to, and who would carry out whatever punishment the delivery guy thought he had coming. They couldn’t get any answers out of greasy overalls in his current state. If Roger the barista had been the one who tipped them off about the shed shifter skin in the server room, the likelihood he’d stuck around to answer questions was slim to none, and slim probably jumped on a plane to all points nowhere. If they wanted answers, they needed this guy to talk.

“This might be a first,” Dean said, lowering his gun. “Most monsters like to chat before accepting an express ride to Purgatory.”

The man slowly raised his hands and turned around, looking at each of them with pleading eyes. “I’m just the driver,” he said, pointing to the name badge sewn to his shirt pocket. It read _Crossroads Delivery Service_ , and the name _Joe_ was embroidered above it in red thread.

“Crossroads, huh?” Sam asked. “So, what, are you working for a demon? He got something on you?”

“Yeah, Joe,” Dean added. “I didn’t think shifters had souls to sell.”

“They don’t, per se,” Cas added, sniffing the air around the shifter. “But from this distance I can smell a hint of sulfur on him.”

Joe groaned. “Roger, Dale, and I had a good thing going here for years. We’d help ease the way for the occasional shipment to pass through customs and inspections, or arrange flights for the humanity-challenged.”

“What, you ran some sort of travel agency for freaks?” Dean asked.

Joe bristled at that, but he kept talking anyway. “It’s nearly impossible for most non-humans to get their hands on legal documentation. We just made sure they didn’t find themselves in difficult to explain situations with the federal government if they needed to travel. It was a good situation all around.”

“Where does Roger fit into this?” Cas asked.

“Wait, he’s not the one who hired you guys?” Joe said, his fists clenching and unclenching as he slowly lowered his hands to his sides.

“Hired us?” Dean said. “Do you even know how hunters work? Nobody _hires_ us. That would imply someone was actually fucking _paying_ us.”

“Then why were you here today? Dale said he saw a couple hunters checking out all our stash rooms. Someone must’ve tipped you off.”

“Dude, how dumb are you guys?” Dean said.

“You were leaving a trail of unconscious bodies around the airport,” Sam said, carefully omitting any mention that it had been Jerry who recognized the strange pattern and called them up for help. “And the people you’d been impersonating were waking up freaked out about not remembering huge chunks of time. Who _wouldn’t_ notice that?”

A perplexed look came over Joe’s face. “Roger always told us his potions were foolproof. No one _ever_ remembered forgetting… _whatever_. You know what I mean. Nobody was ever supposed to notice, and as far as we knew, nobody ever _did_. We weren’t hurting anyone. That’s why the whole system worked in the first place. At least, not until Roger started taking contracts from that damn demon. That’s why I gotta wear the stupid name tag now, too. My name isn’t even Joe. It’s Dennis”

“Well, Denny, why don’t you tell us about this demon,” Dean said, .

“What, you’re not gonna kill me?” Dennis asked, sounding entirely astonished.

“You were just trying to make an honest-- or at least mostly honest-- living,” Sam replied, holstering his gun and leveling a serious look at the guy. “Are you gonna try and kill _us_?”

Dennis looked from Sam, to Dean, to Cas who was glaring daggers at him and still holding his angel blade, albeit lowered to his side. “I, uh… never really considered it, and I think violence is uncalled for in this civil situation.”

“That’s what we like to hear,” Dean said, putting away his weapon as well, as a slow smile spread across his face. “So tell us about your operation, and this demon who’s horning in on your business. Get it?” he said, elbowing Cas and grinning like an idiot. “Demon? Horning?”

Cas snorted, but Sam looked pained. Dean shrugged at Dennis, who was tentatively smiling at his inexplicable turn of luck.


	7. Chapter 7

Just as they’d suspected, Roger had pulled a runner, never to be seen again. After hearing the entire story, Dean was just relieved he wouldn’t be tempted to off the guy on principle if he caught him ogling Cas again. They got everything they needed to put the rest of the details together from Dennis.

Roger had been coerced by a demon into a large-scale import scheme. Dennis wasn’t entirely sure what leverage the demon had over Roger, but it was enough to compel him to practically quadruple their business. It was getting more and more difficult for the three of them to cover for that volume of “mishandled freight,” and Roger was getting desperate to break his deal with the demon.

After negotiations on scaling back their contract to more reasonable levels for such a small airport fell through, Roger had apparently taken matters into his own hands. His foolproof potions suddenly weren’t quite so foolproof anymore. He sabotaged their entire business operation, hoping to send up enough red flags to lure in a hunter to clean up his mess.

Dennis was horrified to learn that Roger had been the one to point the Winchesters directly at him and Dale while he made a break for freedom.

“You work with a guy for ten years, and this is the thanks you get,” Dennis said, lamenting over a cup of coffee in the freight warehouse as Cas tried to console him.

“I know the feeling. I served Heaven since the dawn of creation, and in exchange for stopping the apocalypse the angels tried to brainwash and kill me. To be fair, I did kill a lot of them as well, but it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

Dennis slowly looked up from his coffee, his brows pinched together as he blinked up at Cas. Dean walked up behind Cas and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t think that’s helping, Cas. Let’s stick to this case. We can all swap war stories after we have a little chat with Hell’s most naughty.”

Sam was nearly done preparing the demon summoning ritual as Dean encouraged Dennis to finish his tale. Dean glanced over Cas’s shoulder, and Sam looked up from where he was carefully finishing drawing the sigil on the smooth concrete floor. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d have said Sam looked disappointed in him. Dean acknowledged it had been a half-assed insult on his part and turned back to the shifter.

Dennis cast a sad glance over to where his friend’s body lay, now covered with a canvas tarp. “So you think Roger was willing to sacrifice both of us to hunters just to get out of his contract with the demon?”

Dean shrugged. “Could be he figured you’d gank us first and hotfoot it outta here yourselves with the demon’s loot. Might not’ve been a bad payday if it had worked out for you.”

Dennis nodded slowly, staring back into his coffee cup. “Dale probably would’ve killed you. He had some anger management issues. But you got him first.”

“So, what’s this demon’s name?” Sam asked, standing up and dusting off his hands. “We need it for the summoning.”

“Roger only ever referred to him as _The Guy_. I don’t know what his name is.”

“Wait,” Dean said, turning slowly to smirk at Sam, “A crossroads demon called Guy?”

“Well, he’s a crossroads demon,” Dennis said. “You think Guy was really his name? That’s kind of a dumb name for a demon.”

“No more than Dennis is a dumb name for a shapeshifter,” Dean replied. “And if it’s the demon I’m thinking of, he’s kind of a dumb demon. Crowley caught him welching on ten year deals and cashing in early.”

“He told Roger he was the big man in charge of the crossroads now,” Dennis said. “That’s all I know.”

“Someone had to step up to fill Barthamus’s ugly loafers after we ganked him,” Dean said to Sam. “You think Guy the fake wiccan who helped Becky rope you into marriage thinks he can play king of the crossroads now?”

Sam looked absolutely mortified at the mere mention of that entire ordeal. “Maybe Cas should do the summoning then. I was really enjoying all the years I thought Guy was suffering untold punishment in Hell for that.”

“If it’s any consolation, Sam, you can stab him in the face when we’re finished interrogating him,” Cas said, holding out his angel blade for Sam.

Sam stood staring between the blade and Cas for a moment, before quietly nodding and taking the weapon. Dennis took cover behind the forklift, where Dean could see him but the demon would not. Cas took Sam’s place at their makeshift altar on the floor of the warehouse and performed the ritual. Guy appeared in the devil’s trap with a sour look on his face-- probably at the minor inconvenience of being summoned against his will-- that slowly blossomed into horror at the sight of the Winchesters. He looked for an escape route, and then realized he was trapped and tried to make the best of a terrible situation with a show of bravado.

“Ah, Winchesters. I see you’ve discovered my import business,” Guy said, taking note of the crate Dale and Art had abandoned on the loading dock. “What, are you to here to collect the hunter’s tariff? I’m more than willing to pay for your time and trouble.”

“That’s the thing, Guy,” Dean said. “We don’t work for Hell.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard, Dean. You and Crowley had quite the… cozy little partnership… over the years, didn’t you? But now he’s gone, and Bart’s gone, and I’m the industrious demon left standing, who’d cultivated a long list of important artifacts the two of them had collected over the centuries. Name your price, and we can all walk away from this as friends. You know how useful it can be to have a powerful and well-placed demon in your pocket, am I right?”

Dean glared at Guy, and Sam practically looked sick. Cas looked ready to pounce on the demon and tear him limb from limb.

“I tolerated Crowley because he’d proven his loyalty,” Cas said. “You’ve done no such thing.”

“Aah, the angel speaks.” Guy grinned and eyeballed Cas from head to toe and back again. “Or what’s left of the angel. Humanity can be… draining, can’t it--”

“Oh, that is fucking _it_ ” Dean said, growling out his frustration and making a charge toward the demon.

Cas held him back with a hand on his arm. “Dean, it’s fine. We need him to talk, and he’s just trying to bait you into doing something hasty so he can attempt an escape.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not fucking happening,” Dean said, taking a deep breath and standing his ground at Cas’s side. “So, talk. What did you have over Roger?”

“Have over him?” Guy asked. “Natural witches, think they’re so superior. He built this entire operation from the ground up, and had the nerve to try to refuse service to the new king of the crossroads.”

“So what changed his mind?” Sam asked.

Guy grinned. “I explained how I’d arrange for every one of his special charters to crash unless he handled a few deliveries a month for me. I’ve spent decades ferreting out Crowley’s secret stashes, and now that he’s gone, I needed to make a few transfers before any other enterprising demons tried to do the same. Some of these old demons were so impractical about their long-term storage solutions. Ancient crypts and crumbling ruins, most of them. It’s no way to keep priceless and powerful artifacts. Things had been running along just fine for us until the two of you showed up and poked your noses into my business.”

“That’s the thing, Guy,” Sam said. “Things were absolutely not fine. Roger said he tried to renegotiate with you, that he told you you were asking for too much and people were beginning to notice. Even if we hadn’t come along, someone else would’ve raised some red flags sooner or later.”

Guy waved a hand dismissively. “Roger was paranoid. His system was indetectable. He didn’t give himself enough credit.” A slow grin spread across Guy’s face. “Don’t tell me you already killed him like the efficient little hunters you are?”

“If we’d killed him, we never would’ve discovered the source of the problem,” Cas replied.

“I’m not a problem,” Guy replied. “I’m just trying to carry out my business, now that there’s no one in Hell left to stand in my way.”

“Yeah, well, there’s still us,” Sam said.

“Aw, Sam. I’m sorry things didn’t work out with Becky,” Guy said, and it was the last thing he ever said as Sam charged at him and drove Cas’s angel blade through his heart.

“You missed his face, Sam,” Dean said.

“Yeah, well, his contract’s cancelled either way,” Sam said, wiping the blade off on the dead demon’s jacket before handing it back to Cas. “Now what are we gonna do with all his stuff? If all of these crates are filled with Crowley’s collectibles, we can’t just leave a bunch of potentially dangerous magical artifacts lying around for the U.S. Government to haul off. Who even knows what could be in there.”

Dean and Cas exchanged a grimace as Dennis slowly inched his way over to make sure the demon was really dead. Dennis nudged his foot with the toe of his boot, and heaved a sigh of relief.

“So am I free to go?” Dennis asked after a few moments of silent contemplation.

Dean held out his hand, palm up. “We’ll take the keys to the truck, and in exchange you can walk out the door. Deal?”

Dennis didn’t even hesitate. He tossed Dean the keys and his Crossroads Delivery ball cap, running out the door with a wave and a shout of thanks, and a promise to stay the hell off their radar.

“I guess we should fill Jerry in, then,” Sam said, taking in the ghastly sight of yet another mess they’d have to clean up.

 

Jerry was appalled at the sight of the two dead bodies, not to mention the demon summoning art project decorating the floor of the warehouse. He confirmed that he’d never seen Guy before, but the shifter they’d known as Dale, Jerry identified as Wes Dreyer, one of the mechanics in charge of the airport’s fleet of service vehicles. A few quick calls confirmed that the real Wes was stashed safely in a janitorial closet sleeping off whatever was in Roger’s secret knockout potion, conveniently delivered to the unwitting targets via their daily caffeine fix. Relief that none of his employees had been permanently harmed helped Jerry motivate himself to pitch in with the cleanup effort.

“So, which do you want, burn the bodies or mop up the blood?” Dean asked, holding out two sets of keys in front of Sam’s face.

Sam considered it for a moment and then grabbed the keys to the shifters’ delivery truck. “Help me load up the rest of these crates and I’ll find somewhere outside of town to get rid of the bodies. You two can handle the rest of the cleanup here?”

Dean glanced over at Cas who nodded once. “Yeah I think we got it covered. Give us a call and let us know where you end up stopping for the night.”

It took the four of them twenty minutes to load up the rest of the freight and haul the two bodies into the back of the truck. After Sam drove away, Dean and Cas set to work scrubbing every last bit of evidence from the entire airport-- both physically and digitally-- that any of this had ever happened. Jerry scanned through the surveillance footage and deleted all traces of the Winchesters. In exchange, Dean and Cas took care of the gelatinous heap of decomposing shifter goo in the server room.

By the time Jerry escorted Dean and Cas out of the airport it was well past midnight, and it had been a very, very long day. Sam had called shortly before to tell them he’d taken care of the bodies and driven nearly two hundred miles west. Dean frowned over the barrel full of toxic waste they were dumping into the airport’s incinerator and made the executive decision that Sam was a big boy who could spend one night in a motel room by himself. There was no way in hell he was gonna make it that far without a good night’s sleep first.

“Yeah, Sammy, we still got some shit to finish up here. We’ll probably catch up to you on the interstate tomorrow. How fast does that heap go anyway?”

“Not fast enough to get pulled over for driving a truckload of potentially stolen antiquities,” Sam shot back. “I guess I’ll see you back at the bunker, if I don’t see you sooner.”

“Good night, Sam,” Cas said.

“Yeah, night guys.”

Dean listened to the clicking noise as Sam disconnected the call and then stood there, staring down at the phone and realizing what that meant. The case was over. There was no ignoring the elephant any longer. Dean had a few appallingly large decisions to make, barreling down on him a hell of a lot faster than Sam’s stolen truck.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean had driven back to their motel in a daze, partly due to exhaustion as the long day finally caught up with him and partly due to his continued inability to decide what the hell to do about his Cas situation. Sam wouldn’t be there, so technically they wouldn’t _have_ to share a bed, and Dean was suddenly feeling bereft at the thought that he might not even get one more night of that forbidden comfort. He’d practically been counting on at least one more no-explanations-necessary night of bed sharing, and even that wasn’t a certainty anymore. He could probably put off saying anything that would make Cas hesitate to share a bed with him on their next hunt, if only to cling to that final chance to properly appreciate one last night of it.

It still felt wrong to keep up the ruse, and Cas deserved to know the truth either way. And dammit, Dean had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t put it off any longer.

Dean had been so deeply involved in his own tumultuous thoughts during the five minute drive that he hadn’t noticed the similar state of anxiety that Cas had worked himself up into.  When he pulled up outside their motel and shut off the engine, they both just sat there staring vacantly at the building, neither wanting to face what inevitably came next.

“Soooo,” Dean said after two minutes of listening to the engine tick as it cooled. “I think we got some leftover pizza if you’re hungry.”

“I believe I could use a beer, as well,” Cas replied, casting a weak smile at Dean. He opened and closed his mouth as if he wanted to say something more, but shook his head and reached for the door handle instead.

“Yeah, I think I could use a beer or three myself,” Dean muttered to himself as he got out and followed Cas to their door.

Their room was in a surprising state of disarray compared to how they typically left things on hunts. They’d run out in such a hurry when Jerry called that they hadn’t even bothered to collect their gear. Sam’s laptop still sat open on the table, and stacks of notes and files lay scattered across the table and both beds, along with both pizza boxes. Dean pushed the lid of the laptop closed on his way to the fridge to grab a couple of beers.

“Well that case escalated quickly,” he said, popping the cap of one of the bottles and handing it to Cas, who’d collected the other pizza box and brought it to the table.

“I wonder what’s in those crates?” he asked idly as he picked up a slice of Sam’s veggie pizza. “And what other things Crowley had stashed around the world that might turn up at an inopportune moment in the future.”

“Sam can probably figure some of it out with these,” Dean said, scooping up Sam’s notes on the charter flight records from the bed and stacking them neatly atop the laptop. “Or at least where all the shipments came from. It’s a start, anyway.”

“I have a feeling hunters will be stumbling across Crowley’s lost hoards for generations to come.”

“Yeah, well he was a pack rat. He told me he had an entire warehouse full of essence of kraken in Belize. Can you believe that? What the fuck do you even do with that much kraken?”

Cas shook his head and swallowed. “Why is it always Belize?”

Dean looked at him funny, his mouth too full of pizza to even ask, but Cas was off on another tangent before he could swallow.

“I look forward to seeing what a demon considered the most important artifacts to liberate from what might arguably be the largest single collection of supernatural artifacts outside of your bunker.”

There was a lot in that statement that Dean wanted to address, but it was the last two words that hit him with a strange and profound sense of pain. He dropped the remains of his pizza slice back into the box and looked right at Cas. “You know it’s your bunker too, right? It’s not _my_ bunker, it’s _ours_.”

Cas took a few fortifying breaths and nodded. “Yes, Dean. You’ve mentioned that several times. I’m just not used to thinking of anything as _mine_.”

“Yeah, well, you should get used to it,” Dean said, shifting in his seat and struggling to maintain eye contact. “You’re not just a tenant, or some guy we haul around on hunts with us. What’s mine is yours, okay?”

Cas was tempted to relieve the tension building between them and make some light-hearted comment about whether or not Dean was including Baby on that list, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. They were so close to dangerous territory, and he’d sworn to himself that he wouldn’t back down this time. He took one last deep breath and dove across the line.

“I would like to think that were true. If I had anything to share with you, it would be yours, as well.”

Dean swallowed hard despite the fact his mouth had gone as dry as the Sahara, and resisted the impulse to reach for his beer. “Yeah, well, you’ve got you. And I’d rather have you than pretty much everything else in the world combined.”

“Dean…” Cas started, but for once he had no idea how to respond. Dean didn’t drop his gaze, didn’t try and brush that declaration aside or make light of it. They’d been dodging around it for so long that it almost felt like they were playing some dangerous version of truth chicken, waiting to see who’d break first. Cas had already decided it wouldn’t be him and pushed on, meeting Dean’s determined stare with one of his own. “I didn’t choose to stay with you because you offered me a home. I chose to stay with _you_.”

Dean’s heart pounded in his chest now, and he’d begun to feel light-headed. If he didn’t say something soon, he might lose the nerve to ever bring it up again. And Cas had given him the perfect opening. “You know it’s got to the point I can’t sleep when we’re back at the bunker. I haven’t looked forward to road trips so much in years.”

Cas nodded, leaning forward in his seat. “I didn’t want to burden you with it, but I’ve felt the same way.”

“Burden? Cas, you could never be a burden. If something’s wrong, you gotta tell me.”

“I believe the same goes for you, Dean,” Cas said, a wry smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “I think we both need to learn to communicate our needs better.”

“Yeah? You got any needs you’d like to communicate?” Dean asked.

Cas closed his eyes for a moment and steeled himself in case he’d been irredeemably wrong about everything, while quietly hoping he’d been right all along. “I just need you, Dean, in whatever way you’ll have me.”

Dean reached out and rested one hand on Cas’s knee. “You got me, Cas. And I got you. And that ain’t ever gonna change, okay?”

“Even if I told you that I want to share your bed every night?”

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. “Hell, yes. Uh, I mean, yeah. I’d like that too.”

Cas watched a tinge of pink wash across Dean’s cheeks and nodded slowly. It was a good start, but in his current state, this was a lot. He was putting the rest of his life on the line here, now that the rest of his life had an absolute time limit stamped on it, so he had to be sure. “Even once I’m entirely human?”

Dean frowned and studied him for a few moments, during which Cas reconsidered several billion years’ worth of life choices and wondered where he’d gone wrong, before Dean finally spoke. “Dude, you eat, you sleep, you got a whole wardrobe now even if you still mostly steal my clothes. How much more human can you get?”

Cas shrugged, not entirely sure where this was going yet, and he didn’t want to dwell on his previous experience as a human. He’d been so inexperienced, and had spent most of his time concerned about his own survival and the rest concerned about his fallen brothers and sisters. This time around he was prepared for what he’d face. At least, he was prepared for most of it. “There’s, um… a few human things I’ve yet to experience, so I’m not entirely sure. How much more human will I get?”

“Cas,” Dean said quietly, leaning in as far as the table would allow. “It doesn’t make a difference to me. I’ve been thinking of you the same way for years. Angel, human, whatever. You’re still _Cas_. And I’m gonna make sure you have every last fucking human experience you want, okay? You name it, you got it.”

“In that case, I want to spend the rest of my human life with you.”

Dean’s gut twisted at the reminder of how badly he’d failed Cas the last time he’d fallen. He’d somehow, miraculously, been given another chance to do things right this time, and there was no way he was gonna fuck this up again. “I don’t know how many times I gotta say it, but I’ll say it twice a day for the rest of our lives if you need me to. You’re stuck with me now, Cas, like it or not.”

Cas couldn’t help but smile at Dean’s earnestness. “Yes, Dean. I think I’d like that very much.”

“Well, good then. So how’s about we start with the human experience of finishing the leftover pizza and seeing if there’s anything good on tv?”

“I’ve had that experience before.”

Dean stood up and shovelled all the remaining pizza into one box and carried it over to their bed. He didn’t even blink at the realization that he was already thinking of it as _their bed_. After weeks of introspective agonizing over it, it was a blissful relief to finally know he could have it, and that Cas wanted it just as much as he did. He kicked off his boots and made himself comfortable while Cas collected two more beers from the fridge and then climbed in beside him.

There wasn’t much on at two in the morning, but Dean settled on a show about unique museum exhibits, which seemed strangely apropos. Cas made an occasional comment about the accuracy of some of the show’s historical reenactments, but otherwise they talked about everything and nothing until the food was gone and they’d burned through the near giddiness they’d worked themselves up into over their half-confessions.

There was still the occasional moment they’d catch themselves out, bumping a knee into the other’s thigh, or else falling into the old habit of making some excuse or other for having drifted too far into the other’s personal space. By the time the show ended, they’d mostly recovered from the awkwardness of knowing they were sharing a bed deliberately, and weren’t even attempting to make any excuses about it. But of course now that it was time to actually sleep, there was a whole new sort of awkwardness arising.

Something about the declaration Dean had made left a bubbling feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with what he’d eaten. He’d promised Cas every human experience he wanted, but the one human experience he’d hoped Cas would want, the human experience _he_ wanted with Cas, went quite a bit beyond the accidental sleep-cuddling that was practically guaranteed if the two of them were going to share that bed. In fact, now that they’d both stated it plainly, they couldn’t deny that there was nothing _accidental_ about the cuddling, either.

Dean shut off the tv and got up to toss the empty pizza box and beer bottles in the trash. He went to the bathroom and brushed his teeth, only to find Cas waiting at the door holding his own toothbrush when he was done. Cas had bought it the last time they’d made a grocery run, and without a word Dean had thrown an extra tube of toothpaste and a pack of floss in the basket as well. He hadn’t been sure if Cas actually needed any of it, or if it was just his way of showing solidarity with the humans or whatever, but now he knew. Cas had been gently easing him into all of this by gradually adopting everything that comes along with being human. He stood there blinking at Cas for a moment while that sunk in, while Cas nudged him aside and went about methodically brushing his teeth as if that was just _normal_.

Because it _was_ just normal.

He was still standing there when Cas finished and turned to frown at him.

“Is something wrong, Dean?”

Every unfinished conversation they’d ever had-- and hell there’d been a lot of them, way too damn many-- flashed through Dean’s mind as Cas stood there right up in his personal space in a too-small motel bathroom. Ten years ago he’d have rolled his eyes and told Cas to take a healthy step back. Five years ago he would’ve clenched his teeth (and probably his fists) and held back the urge to say fuck it to the whole personal space thing. Two years ago he would’ve been grateful and spent every second drinking in the feeling of Cas so close but never working up the nerve to do anything about it. One year ago… well, he didn’t even want to think about the eternal two weeks when he thought he’d never have a chance to see Cas again, let alone have whatever was happening between them now.

And now? Now he thought he understood what Cas meant about those human things he hadn’t experienced yet, but more importantly, he understood that Cas _wanted_ them. Wanted them enough to yell his way back from the Empty for, and then to fall from heaven again just for the remote _chance_ to have them.

Dean shook his head slowly, raising one hand as he shuffled closer to Cas. His hand came to rest on Cas’s cheek and he leaned in ever so slowly, looking into Cas’s eyes, only letting them slip closed a moment before their lips met. It was glacially slow, like everything else that had brought them to this point, but so satisfying now that they were actually here. The kiss wasn’t charged with some explosive burst of wild passion, or starving after a decade of wild longing, or crushing with aching sadness for what they’d suffered through to get there. It just felt right, like it was always meant to be this way if only they had the patience to wait for it. It felt like coming home after a lifetime at sea, and they put all of that into a single kiss.

Dean pulled back just far enough to see the look on Cas’s face. He didn’t look surprised or distressed. The word that drifted to the surface of Dean’s thoughts was _peaceful_ , and another wave of memories threatened to knock Dean off his feet. Cas had told him he loved him once, and he’d given Cas a mixtape in exchange. Cas tried to return the tape right before he’d run off because Jack had offered him a vision of peace. Now Dean knew exactly what that vision must’ve looked like, because he was witnessing it unfold before his eyes.

“In case you missed the memo, I love you too, Cas. That’s not one of the human experiences you’ve been missing out on, you know.”

Cas nodded, and for a second Dean worried that the tears welling up in Cas’s eyes were going to spill over. “I haven’t experienced it like this, though,” Cas replied, and then threw himself bodily at Dean, the force and suddenness of it catching him off guard. He stumbled backward with Cas in his arms until Cas held him pinned against the wall.

Their second kiss was everything their first wasn’t, and brought an entirely different sort of relief. It was just as satisfying and natural, but topped off with ten years’ worth of longing and repressed attraction. Now that they were finally on the same page, Cas dove at him with barely contained desperation, trying to collect on all ten years’ worth at once.

Dean was more than happy to indulge Cas’s sudden overwhelming need to express his feelings physically, but pressed against the cold tile wall of a motel bathroom wasn’t exactly the fantasy setting he’d always imagined for their first kiss. He slowly tried to push back against Cas, to take this somewhere a little more comfortable, but Cas wasn’t going to let him go that easy. Not that Dean wanted him to.

He drank from Cas’s mouth like it was water and air, his hands nudging against Cas’s hips in an effort to hold himself back from giving himself over entirely and succumbing to every last need surging through him. If he let Cas have his way, they’d end up rutting like teenagers on the bathroom floor, and if this was really happening it was at least gonna happen in bed. And preferably with far less clothes.

Dean tugged up the hem of Cas’s shirt and let his hands slip underneath, sliding up the warm skin of his back. Cas gasped as he gently dug in his nails and Dean pressed his advantage. He pushed off the wall and guided Cas backward into the bedroom as Cas broke their kiss to gaze at him with a mix of wonder and confusion. Dean smiled, his hands moving to unbutton Cas’s shirt.

Cas took it as permission to undress Dean. He lifted Dean’s shirt, his fingers exploring every inch of revealed skin as he went, until Dean raised his arms and let Cas pull his shirt over his head. He stepped back and stared at what he’d done, at the look he’d brought to Dean’s face, and then Dean pulled him back in for another searing kiss. He struggled out of his own shirt; and then at the feel of so much warm skin pressed against his own, he struggled with the overwhelming need for more.

Dean slid his hands to Cas’s waist, running teasing fingers along the edge of his jeans, pausing at the button until Cas’s hands joined his in a fit of impatience. Dean smiled into the kiss as Cas batted his hands away. Dean relented, turning his focus to kneading his way up Cas’s back while Cas undid his pants. As soon as his zipper was undone, Cas turned his efforts to Dean’s belt while Dean turned his efforts to kissing his way across Cas’s jaw and down the side of his neck.

Cas somehow managed to pull Dean’s belt free, tilting his head to the side with a low moan to give Dean better access to his neck and shoulder. He stood there for a moment luxuriating in the feel of Dean’s mouth against his skin, biting his lip and humming out his pleasure in gasps. He ground his hips forward against Dean’s, and the sudden pressure left Dean sucking in a sharp breath and grinding back against him. Dean held him tight, planting one more kiss against his lips, and then stepped back just enough to slide his own pants down, kissing his way down Cas’s chest as he bent over. Dean paused to flick his tongue across his nipple, and Cas outright moaned at the sensation as Dean dropped to his knees. He rested his hands on Cas’s hips and looked up at him, asking for permission. Cas nodded once, and Dean slowly tugged Cas’s jeans over his hips.

Cas stared down at Dean kneeling at his feet, looking back at him with more awe than when Cas had first introduced himself to Dean as the angel who’d rescued him from Hell. Another surge of longing shot through his entire body, and Cas wasn’t sure if it was his own feeling or the vestiges he could still pick up from Dean through the last wisps of his grace. He’d once thought he’d miss being able to sense Dean’s emotions, but the more human he became, the more he realized how much more intensely he could _feel_ those emotions, rather than simply identifying them in others. Because feeling them himself , he marveled at the fact that Dean had been experiencing this intense longing for this for _years_. It had taken less than a month for Cas to break under the strain of it, and yet Dean was still in awe of _him_.

Dean worked his jeans down to Cas’s knees, and Cas stepped out of them and kicked them aside. His hands cupped Dean’s face as Dean slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his boxers and slowly dragged them down. The cool air against his freed cock had him longing for the warmth of Dean’s skin against his again, and he gripped at Dean’s shoulders trying to pull him back up into their embrace. Dean resisted, and Cas groaned in frustration until Dean tentatively licked the head of his cock. A shudder ran through his entire body, his fingers clenching tight around Dean’s shoulders.

Dean just grinned up at him and then licked a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock before swallowing it down. Cas’s knees nearly buckled, only Dean’s hands steadying his hips kept him from falling to the ground. Dean licked and sucked, drawing increasingly wanton and un-angelic noises out of Cas, until his knees trembled and Dean was so painfully turned on that he needed to feel every inch of Cas that he could. He finally surged to his feet, tugging his own pants and boxers the rest of the way off as he stood, grabbing a handful of Cas’s hair and dragging him into a kiss.

Cas tasted himself on Dean’s lips as he drew him into the embrace he’d been longing for, reveling in the warmth of Dean’s entire body pressed to his, only breaking apart again when they were both gasping for air.

“Better, right?” Dean said, the first words he’d used since he’d confessed his love. Under the circumstances, the reminder that he’d actually said the words out loud didn’t even faze him.

“It could be even better,” Cas replied, and then twisted around and dragged Dean down onto the bed.

Dean laughed, full of joy and relief, and pulled Cas against him, one hand tangled in Cas’s hair holding him back just enough to gaze into his eyes. His other hand slid down his back as he rolled his hips languidly against Cas’s. It had been worth it to watch every expression cross Cas’s face in the span of a few glorious eternal seconds, from grumpiness that the kissing had stopped through surprise and pleasure at the friction and feeling of Dean’s hard cock sliding against his own, to the practically feral glint in his eye as Cas grasped Dean’s hip and urged him to do it again. Dean gladly complied.

Now that Cas had the rhythm down, Dean eased a hand between them, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks and increasing the pressure while letting Cas control the speed of their thrusts. He started slow, straining to memorize every reaction, every moan and hitched breath, each new sensation. A decade worth of longing was too much to fight against, and their gentle wonder was quickly subsumed under the weight of it.

Staring into each other’s eyes, Cas gripped him tighter as the tingling heat of impending orgasm trickled down his spine and Cas’s pace began to falter. Cas came first, his eyes rolling up in his head and his mouth dropping open with Dean’s name as he spilled over Dean’s hand. The sight was enough to drive Dean over the edge with a gasp of _ohgod, Cas_ as the edges of the world fuzzed out in a haze of bliss and a ringing in his ears.

Dean came back to his senses, still catching his breath, to Cas laying a trail of soft kisses along his neck and shoulder. His first impulse was to reach up and stroke Cas’s face, to draw him up into a proper kiss, but his hand was still sticky so he settled for nuzzling down into Cas’s atrociously messy hair. He heaved a contented sigh, which brought Cas’s attention up with a lazy smile. Dean took advantage and pressed a sweetly satisfied kiss to his lips.

“Was that better?” Cas asked when he pulled away. “Though I’m still not clear on what you were attempting to improve upon.”

Dean laughed again, planting another quick kiss before showing Cas his messy hand and reluctantly rolling over to get out of bed. He talked while he went to the bathroom to wash his hands and bring back a towel for Cas, who followed after him anyway. Dean grinned at Cas in the bathroom mirror, while he cleaned up.

“At the rate we were going in here, I figured we’d end up naked on the cold tile floor, which would’ve sucked.”

Cas frowned down at the floor and then up at Dean, who clarified.

“Well, it wouldn’t have _sucked_ , but it would’ve been cold. And nasty. I mean, it’s a motel bathroom floor.”

Dean turned and ran the towel over Cas’s stomach, wiping away drying drops of come. He dropped the towel on the floor and rested his hands on Cas’s hips, filled with a strange mixture of awe and disbelief and utter contentment. Maybe this really was peace, or at least the closest thing to peace a hunter could ever get.

“I see,” Cas replied, tilting his head ever so slightly to the side. “I agree that would’ve been less than ideal.”

Dean laughed again, and Cas smiled at him. “So is this what you’d wanted?”

Cas nodded. “I’d say it was ideal, yes.”


	9. Chapter 9

The next morning, they missed Sam’s phone call while they were in the shower. Dean called him back after the hot water had run out, while Cas finished packing up all their belongings and giving the room a thorough once-over to make sure they weren’t inadvertently leaving behind any of the documents that Jerry had given them. Occasionally they accidentally left behind weird news articles or the odd page of unneeded notes. Dean’s certain that plenty of housekeepers over the years had disconcerting experiences as a result, but it seemed like an entirely different level of wrong to accidentally leave behind flight and shipping records that they probably shouldn’t even have in the first place. If they had any hope of tracking down more of Crowley’s secret stashes, those records were their only clues at the moment, so the risk of hanging on to them seemed well worth it.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam said when he finally answered. “You guys on the road yet?”

Dean cast a guilty look over at Cas. “No, not yet, actually. We’re gonna make a quick stop for breakfast and then try to drive straight through. We should be home in about eighteen hours, if we’re lucky. How about you?”

“It’s after nine already,” Sam replied. “I’ve been driving since six. I’ll probably be home in time for the eleven o’clock news toight.”

“No problems with the truck, then?” Dean asked. It had been his only objection to Sam heading home on his own.

“It’s a piece of shit,” Sam replied. “It handles like a dump truck and it makes a whining noise if I try to push it over seventy, but it’ll make it.”

Dean frowned and bobbed his head from side to side, not entirely satisfied with that answer but there wasn’t anything any of them could do about it at the moment.

“So how late was it before you guys got done last night?” Sam asked into his momentary silence. “You’re getting kind of a late start for such a long drive. Don’t try to push through on my account. I’ll survive a night at home without you if you need to stop.”

Dean cast another sidelong glance at Cas, who was now waiting by the door with their packed bags at his feet, the picture of contentment. There was no way Dean was gonna try and lie to Sam about why they were getting such a late start. He took a deep breath and held Cas’s gaze while he spoke.

“We were out of there by one, then came back here and cleaned up our mess. Cas and I had a long talk about some stuff, and… uh, we, um. Came to an understanding.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut into the resounding silence. So maybe he wasn’t gonna tell the entire truth to Sam over the phone.

“An understanding?” Sam prodded.

“Yeah,” Dean said, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re good. Just, some things are gonna be different from here on out. We’ll talk about it tomorrow, okay? We’re heading out now.”

Sam took another few seconds to respond, but his voice sounded warmer. “Yeah, Dean. That’s good. Drive safe. And Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Congrats.”

Dean cleared his throat, relieved that Sam seemed to have figured it out anyway. “Yeah, thanks.”

 

Dean and Cas ended up driving straight through in record time. Dean proved that yes, Baby was absolutely on the list of things he owned that Cas was invited to consider his as well when he let him take a turn driving after they’d stopped for a late lunch and to fill up the tank. A well of emotions threatened to bubble over when Dean handed him the keys, and Cas had again proclaimed his love and kissed Dean right there at the gas pump.

They pulled into the bunker garage just before six in the morning, exhausted and bedraggled from so many hours on the road. Dean left all their luggage in the car and hauled Cas by the hand straight to the shower room to wash the long drive from their skin and sate the itching skin hunger that had been slowly driving Dean mad while they’d been sitting a foot apart and fully clothed for the better part of a day.

Carrying their dirty clothes and wearing nothing but towels wrapped around their waists as they made their way through the bunker’s halls, they ran into Sam just coming out of his room. From the looks of him, he’d just woken up. Sam blinked blearily at them, about to say something until he fully processed their current state of undress.

“We just got back about twenty minutes ago,” Dean said.

“Uh, yeah. I thought I heard the water running.”

Dean just nodded. “Stuff’s still in the car if you want your laptop or whatever. We’re gonna sleep now.”

Sam nodded and stepped aside for Dean and Cas to shuffle past him like a couple of zombies. Cas heaved a mighty yawn and then smiled up at Sam.

“Good night, Sam” he managed to get out before another yawn overcame him and he followed after Dean.

Sam hung back, giving them a brief head start before creeping through the halls behind them. He rounded the curve of the hall by Dean’s door just in time to see both Dean and Cas head inside and shut the door behind them. He stood there for a minute or two, letting the enormity of it all settle around him, and then smiled.

 

Dean and Cas turned up in the library in the middle of the afternoon looking refreshed and content. Sam had spent the majority of the day researching potential locations of Crowley’s various stashes and narrowing down where to search for the rest. He’d been eager to see what already awaited them out in the truck, but he’d been waiting for Dean and Cas to help bring all those heavy crates inside. He sat back in his chair and watched Dean and Cas take seats opposite him, each of them clutching a cup of coffee.

“So what’s the word, Geraldo?” Dean asked “You had any luck finding Crowley’s secret vaults?”

“Believe it or not, I think I did,” Sam replied. “The last two deliveries originated in Montreal, and someone fitting Guy’s description had been seen driving a pickup truck away from an abandoned farm outside the city. The property was registered to a Kit Marlowe.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “At least it wasn’t Doctor Faustus.”

Sam tapped at his keyboard for a few minutes and then shrugged. “Doctor Faustus owns a warehouse in Toronto that was broken into three weeks ago. According to the police report, the building was empty. They haven’t been able to reach the owner.”

“Yeah, Crowley’s definitely unreachable.”

“But we could check out the Montreal address if you think it’s worth it,” Sam said.

“Maybe we should examine the contents of the crates you suspect came from there first,” Cas suggested.

“Yeah, Sammy. Montreal’s a long drive,” Dean said, taking a sip of coffee and shuddering at the thought of getting back in the car just yet.

A slow and wicked grin spread across Sam’s face. “I forgot to mention. I talked to Jerry this morning. Regina Bryce agreed to take her old job back, and she and Jerry both wanted to show their appreciation.”

Sam slid a sheet of paper across the table to Dean. Dean picked it up, giving Sam a skeptically raised eyebrow before setting down his coffee and turning his attention to the page.

“Vouchers for a free round trip flight?” Dean asked, his voice cracking on the last word.

Sam grinned widely now. “Surprise!”

Dean shot a worried glance over at Cas, who reached over and rested a reassuring hand on his knee.

“We don’t have to use them if you’d rather not fly, Dean.”

Dean thought about it for a few seconds. The idea of getting on a plane still freaked him right the fuck out, but Cas would be with him. They might even survive the experience. He took a long, slow breath and dropped one hand to rest atop Cas’s.

“As long as there’s no demons involved, I think I could handle it,” Dean said. “Which means we ain’t flying to Montreal.”

“Where would you like to go instead?” Cas asked, his face transforming from patient concern into amusement.

“Fuck it, we’re going to Disneyland.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the ride. Please be sure to return all tray tables and seat backs to their upright and locked positions. Thanks for flying Mittens Air. I look forward to flying with you again. Until then, you can find me on the tumbls. I'm [mittensmorgul](https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com).
> 
> (or have a direct link to the promo post for this story [right here](http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/170321551075/the-termial-job-rating-mature-word-count-24k))
> 
>  
> 
> Also, special thanks to [Lizbob](https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com) for putting up with my rambling about international monster smuggling rings. Without her this story would've gone down in flames. :P


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